My Anankē

The bright sun made Anakin squint and frown as he left the Computer Science building. He was instantly far too hot in his black hoodie, but didn’t bother to take it off—he knew that he only had a short walk across campus to another air-conditioned room. 

He grabbed some sunglasses out of his messy backpack and began trudging on autopilot to the other side of campus. He’d made this particular trek from the ugly cluster of Computer Science and Engineering buildings up the hill to the much more beautiful Liberal Arts quad thousands of times over the last four years. 

The late May weather was beautiful, and people were running around campus with their families in black robes taking pictures, chattering loudly and looking happy. Anakin tightened his grip on the freshly printed document in his hand and swallowed thickly. He was not happy. 

He’d been putting off this meeting for as long as he could, scheduling the last possible slot to meet with his thesis advisor and hand in his paper. Once he turned it in, he would no longer be an undergrad. 

No longer Professor Kenobi’s student. 

Anakin didn’t want to be done learning from Obi-Wan. He didn’t want this meeting to be the last time they were in the same room. He didn’t want this to be the last time he ever really saw his favorite professor—outside of maybe across the field at graduation. He didn’t want to be done. He didn’t want to say goodbye. 

Professor Kenobi was the entire reason Anakin had ended up with a double major in Classics and Computer Science. Obi-Wan Kenobi was the best.

In the beginning, Anakin had only ever taken Ancient Greek to fulfill his language requirement. Studying a dead language was the only way to avoid having to spend years making inane small talk about the weather and his favorite colors in a language he’d never use with fellow students he’d prefer to avoid. 

Two years of reading Ancient Greek? He had figured that he could do that, no problem.

He hadn’t even looked up the name of the teacher of Greek 101 when he registered, or read their teaching reviews online, because it really hadn’t mattered. He’d just wanted to avoid the alternatives. Anakin had sorely regretted not checking. He’d wished that he’d been prepared, because when Professor Kenobi walked in, it felt like Anakin was taken apart and put back together wrong. 

Professor Obi-Wan Kenobi was in his thirties, a Hellenist, and had a DPhil from Oxford. He was an internationally renowned scholar, author of multiple famous books on Thales and Anaximander, Anakin’s thesis advisor, and a total fucking thirst trap. 

Anakin sighed and jogged up the stairs to the doors of the combined Classics and Anthropology building. The air conditioning inside was a relief, but the whole building felt odd, it was very quiet, almost too quiet. The final exam period was over, and all the classrooms were empty. The halls echoed without the usual crowd chattering before and after classes. 

He walked up the narrow stairs to the mezzanine filled with professor’s offices slowly, catching his breath and enjoying the familiar sight of all the long-outdated event posters and lecture fliers tacked on the walls. He took a deep breath when he reached the landing. He could do this. Turn paper in, say thanks, leave. That’s all. It would be fine.

Professor Kenobi’s door was closed. 

Anakin swore quietly to himself and pulled out his phone to check the time. He’d been so sure that he’d left early enough, but sure enough—he was twenty minutes late. He had only meant to go to his robotics lab to print his thesis, but had gotten distracted as usual. The professor had probably gone home. He’d missed him. All that worrying, and he’d missed him entirely.

Anakin wanted to bang his head against the wall. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment before clenching his jaw and looking back at the door. He wondered if he should slide the paper under, or if an electronic submission would have to work. Obi-Wan usually hated that, he only ever wanted things turned in on paper so he could write all over them, but maybe a thesis was different. 

He decided to knock, even though in the past a closed door had always meant that the professor was gone. 

“Come in!” Obi-Wan answered back crisply. 

Anakin started a little, butterflies in his stomach at the familiar, posh accent. He cautiously opened the door, sticking his head inside. Obi-Wan was typing quickly, staring at his screen, his back to the door. The afternoon light was coming in through the window, filtered by the broad, green leaves of the tree outside. Obi-Wan’s white Oxford was rolled to his elbows, and Anakin’s eyes caught and lingered on bare forearms, wrists and hands.

“Hello, Professor,” Anakin said quietly. He stepped inside and had a long moment of indecision about whether or not he should close the door behind him or leave it open. It had been closed. He probably wanted it closed? Anakin shrugged and closed it as Obi-Wan shot him a distracted look over his shoulder.

“Ah, there you are, Anankē.” 

Anakin blushed at the nickname. At the beginning of his senior year, Obi-Wan had said that it seemed to be an inexorable inevitability that Anakin would be in his class every semester and called him his own personal Anankē. Anakin had just blushed and shrugged and made scheduling excuses, rather than be honest about how he chose courses. He didn’t care if he was reading Homer or Plutarch, he just wanted to be in the class taught by Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan turned back to his screen, typing for a long moment before hitting the return key hard and spinning his chair back to face his desk, looking over Anakin's sloppy hoodie and jeans critically. He gestured Anakin to sit, his voice dry, “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forget about this meeting too.”

“Sorry I’m late, Professor.” Anakin sat down heavily in one of the visitor’s chairs, pulling off his sunglasses and running a hand through his messy hair. He swallowed and looked down at the slightly wrinkled paper in his hands. “I, well, I lost—”

“—Lost track of time in the robotics lab,” Obi-Wan cut him off. “I’m sure you did.” Anakin looked up at him when he heard the smile in his voice, catching Obi-Wan’s knowing blue eyes and his playful smirk. Anakin felt flustered. “At least you made it, eventually.”

“Yes, Professor,” Anakin said, with an apologetic smile. “I really am sorry.” He held up his paper proudly. “All finished. I fixed the bibliography like you requested to APA standards. I think it does look better.” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and held out a hand, and Anakin transferred it over. 

“Good,” Obi-Wan said distractedly as he thumbed through to the end. “It was a bit of a mélange of styles before.”

“Yes, Professor, I know,” Anakin grumbled. “I fixed it.”

“Very good,” Obi-Wan said. “I already know the content is fine, unless you’ve edited out critical sections without permission.” Anakin huffed a laugh and Obi-Wan looked up, meeting his gaze. Anakin swallowed and looked down. “It is a fine thesis, Anakin.” Anakin felt himself blush, and rolled the strap of his backpack between his fingers anxiously. Obi-Wan continued thoughtfully, "If you rewrite it in a more authoritative voice, we could submit it around and see if it could be published.”

Anakin looked up. He liked the sound of ‘we could’ anything. “Really?” 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, and sighed. His disappointment became evident in his voice: “I still can’t believe you’re going for a Ph.D. in Computer Science instead of Classics, Anankē, you are one of the best philologists I’ve ever met.”

Anakin couldn’t breathe. “Really?” 

“Yes, really.” Obi-Wan opened up his leather messenger bag and tossed Anakin’s paper inside, turning back to his computer. He began typing rapidly. Anakin stared at the back of his head for a long moment and then stood up, slinging his backpack over a shoulder, opening his mouth to say his thanks and go. His heart hurt, but he could do it.

Obi-Wan raised a hand with a finger up in a ‘just a moment’ gesture and continued navigating through menus and confirming boxes. Anakin watched, confused, until Obi-Wan clicked submit with a flourish and closed out of his program. 

“There,” Obi-Wan looked back at him intently, his voice full of satisfaction. “I’ve submitted your grade. You are officially no longer my student, and you will never be my student again.”

Anakin felt his shoulders slump a bit. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.” He swallowed and tried to be honest. “I’ll miss it.” 

I’ll miss you.

“I certainly won’t.” Obi-Wan was standing up, and Anakin frowned at him. 

“What?” He watched with confusion as Obi-Wan walked around the desk and towards him, crowding him backwards towards the floor-to-ceiling bookcase. Anakin’s confused eyes darted from Obi-Wan’s tidy copper hair down to his leather wingtips, and back up to his bright blue eyes. “Why?” He felt slightly hurt.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him. He was standing right in front of him, closer than he’d ever been. He could see the different shades of blue in Obi-Wan’s eyes. He felt frozen, not understanding what was happening, his face was burning. 

“You’ve been driving me insane,” Obi-Wan said emphatically. Anakin’s eyes flicked between Obi-Wan’s, trying to read his expression. Obi-Wan shook his head slightly and exhaled hard. He grabbed Anakin by the nape of the neck and pulled him close. Anakin made a surprised noise deep in his throat when Obi-Wan touched him, and felt his eyebrows rise. 

Obi-Wan’s lips suddenly pressed gently against his, and Anakin’s eyes opened widely and then slid closed. He felt like gravity flipped directions, he couldn’t think clearly—his brain felt disconnected. He dropped his bag and let Obi-Wan walk him backwards against the bookshelf with a loud thump.

Anakin’s mind was stuck on a loop of Obi-Wan is kissing me, I’m kissing Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan is kissing me. He melted, tentatively raising his hands to slide up Obi-Wan’s back, pulling him closer. Obi-Wan’s lips moved against his, gently licking and then sucking on his bottom lip. Anakin moaned and broke the kiss, jerking his head back and clunking it against a large dictionary. He said, rather stupidly, “Not just me?”

“Christ, no, you oblivious idiot.” Obi-Wan kissed him again. “You are brilliant, Anankē, but probably the most oblivious person on the planet.” His mouth moved down to Anakin’s neck. Anakin’s pulse was racing, his breathing was shallow.

“I didn’t expect it,” Anakin gasped as he defended himself, enjoying everything about Obi-Wan’s proximity, his scent, his freckles, his eyes. “I didn’t think it was possible. You’re… I’m just...” He blinked and shook his head slightly. “I never assumed...”

“I know you didn’t, darling.” Anakin’s eyes closed as he felt a spike of desire, he was starting to feel dizzy with how quickly blood was leaving his brain to fill his cock. Obi-Wan was still talking as he sucked a line of kisses down Anakin’s neck. “It was for the best. The entire department thought we were fucking for years now.”

The sound of Obi-Wan saying fucking like that was incredible—hearing him whisper it into his ear as he sucked on his throat was so overwhelmingly incredible that it took several seconds for Anakin to register the content of the sentence. He jerked his head back into the dictionary again and frowned. “What!?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan said, consolingly, pecking him gently, “Everyone likes to gossip, but everyone knew I would never break the rules so nothing came of it.”

“Oh,” Anakin said lamely. He didn’t understand how he’d missed something that big. He had spent most of his time outside of class in the robotics lab working on Threepio and Artoo, so he missed inside jokes a lot.

“I will not miss the infernal gossip, and now I can touch you.” Obi-Wan kissed him again, softly. “So no, I will not miss you being my student, paidika.”

Anakin whined, leaning forward to rub his cheek against Obi-Wan’s beard, like he’d always wanted to. It was both soft and rough, exactly like it should be. He nuzzled him again and murmured back, “Erastēs, please, I need you to touch me.”

Obi-Wan hummed approvingly and said, “Take off this infernal hoodie, Anakin, it’s practically 35 degrees outside.”

“It’s much warmer than that, Professor,” Anakin smirked as he unzipped and shrugged it off, standing in his grease-stained V-neck and jeans. 

Obi-Wan gave him an exasperated look. “Shut up.” He kissed Anakin again, hands raking through his hair, grabbing his curls gently. “Do you own a comb, Anankē? I have genuinely wondered for years.”

“Probably somewhere,” Anakin shrugged. “My fingers work fine.”

Obi-Wan made a skeptical noise. “Do they?” He reached a hand to grab Anakin’s, bringing it to the front of his slacks. Anakin groaned when he felt how hard Obi-Wan’s cock was—how big it was. He wrapped his fingers around and slid along his length. 

“Professor,” Anakin said wonderingly.

Obi-Wan moaned and muttered fervently. “God, Professor this and Professor that, if I had to hear you say it one more time in public I was going to murder you outright.”

Anakin laughed, looking into Obi-Wan’s face curiously. “Why?”

Obi-Wan just rolled his eyes and pressed his cock into Anakin’s hand again. “Why do you think, Anankē? It made me hard when I was trying to teach.”

Anakin’s eyelids fluttered shut and he whined. “No, it didn’t… It couldn't have...” He slid his hand along Obi-Wan’s cock again. He was so big.

“It did.” Obi-Wan kissed him again, and Anakin whimpered, his own cock so unbelievably hard there was a wet spot on his jeans just from their talking, just from their kissing. “You genuinely have no idea what you look like and sound like, do you? The effect you have on people around you?” Anakin shook his head. “You are so frustrating, paidika, I’ve wanted to strangle you.”

“Hey,” Anakin felt himself pout slightly. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing, ever.” Obi-Wan smiled. “You impossible creature.” He kissed the pout from Anakin’s lips, until Anakin was smiling too.

“Professor,” Anakin whispered. “Please...” He pressed his hips forward so that his hard cock pressed against Obi-Wan’s. “Please.”

Suddenly, Anakin was being moved. Obi-Wan carefully pushed several precarious piles of books to the side and then pushed him back roughly on his desk, unbuttoning Anakin’s pants and jerking them down. Anakin moaned when his cock was exposed, and Obi-Wan smirked down at him. “Shoes off.”

Anakin nodded and kicked off his sneakers, letting Obi-Wan pull his jeans all the way off. Obi-Wan pulled Anakin’s legs apart and stood between them, pushing up Anakin’s shirt and stroking a hand down his chest. “Good, paidika, very good.” He kissed him hard, fingers lightly brushing Anakin’s cock before stepping away.

Anakin’s breath was shaky. He pulled off his shirt entirely and felt a spike of arousal at being naked on Obi-Wan’s desk, while Obi-Wan was still fully dressed. He watched as Obi-Wan picked up his messenger bag and pulled out a bottle of lube and a foil packet. Anakin laughed, “You carry that around?”

Obi-Wan gave him a look. “Not every day.”

“Today?” Anakin felt his blush deepening. He spread his legs again as Obi-Wan came back to stand between them, making his cock bounce slightly. Obi-Wan smiled at him, his eyes flicking from Anakin’s down his chest to his cock and back up.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan confirmed, popping the top of the lube. “Today.”

Anakin whined, “For me?” He couldn’t believe that Obi-Wan had planned this.

“Yes, for you.” Obi-Wan said wryly as he dispensed some lube on his fingers.

“Oh,” Anakin gasped as Obi-Wan’s fingers first brushed the sensitive skin under his balls, sliding back towards his entrance. He spoke quickly. “You won’t need to do much of that, Professor.” 

Obi-Wan absently began stroking Anakin’s cock, looking down at him curiously. “Why?”

“I’m already…” He moaned at Obi-Wan's increasingly firm grip on his cock, feeling his face burn. “I’m almost already ready for you.”

“Why?” Obi-Wan’s voice was sharper, his other hand coming up to gently touch Anakin’s entrance, making him gasp. “Why, Anakin?” 

Anakin whimpered, biting his lip. “I knew I was going to see you so…”

“So?” Obi-Wan pressed a finger inside Anakin, made a speculative face, and then slid in two. Anakin whined and tossed his head back.

“I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t be distracted, so I tried to take the edge off.”

Obi-Wan’s voice was rough. “Are you saying that you got yourself off before you came to see me? You came on your fingers thinking about me?” He began fucking Anakin faster with his fingers.

“Yes, I did,” Anakin panted. Obi-Wan’s hand sped up on his cock and Anakin moaned, admitting shyly, “I’ve had to before class for years, why would this be any different?”

Obi-Wan groaned at that, and slipped in another finger, stretching him out quickly. Anakin opened his legs wider, trying to make room. Obi-Wan kissed him deeply, and Anakin was suddenly overwhelmed—Obi-Wan’s fingers were fucking him, his other hand was stroking his cock, and his tongue was in his mouth. Anakin felt so close to coming that he couldn’t kiss right, and he pulled his head back, gasping. 

“Please, Professor, please, I’m ready, I need it, I want you to—”

Obi-Wan slid his fingers out, and roughly opened his pants, pulling out his cock. Anakin’s eyes widened. Since when did Professor Kenobi have a cock that big? Obi-Wan laughed at his expression and grabbed the condom and the lube, rolling it on and slicking himself liberally. “Don’t worry, my beautiful paidika, you can take it.”

Anakin nodded fiercely, opening his legs wider. “Please, Professor, I need—”

“I know,” Obi-Wan agreed, resting the head of his cock against Anakin’s prepared entrance and pausing. Anakin whined and shifted his hips slightly, begging for it, but Obi-Wan still didn’t move. Anakin looked up desperately, trying to read Obi-Wan’s face.

Obi-Wan was smiling widely, looking down at him, sighing contentedly before saying, “Finally,” and pressing the tip of his cock inside.

Anakin made a disbelieving noise at the stretch, looking down to watch Obi-Wan’s massive cock sliding inside of him slowly. He whined and slumped back, his head hitting the desk with a clunk as he took it, trying to relax into the feeling. Obi-Wan laughed and Anakin felt him fuck in a little harder, pushing in a little deeper, working himself inside.

Obi-Wan’s hand returned to Anakin’s cock and began stroking him again slowly as he fucked him. Anakin moaned loudly and then blushed and cut himself off. He was glad nobody was around, but he still didn’t want to be too loud. 

“Don’t be quiet,” Obi-Wan said, his hips finally meeting Anakin’s. Anakin moaned again, he was so full. He was stuffed full of Obi-Wan’s cock. Obi-Wan was inside him. He was so deep, he was so thick—Obi-Wan began sliding in and out slowly, getting Anakin used to him, getting Anakin to relax completely. “I want to hear you.”

“Yes, Professor,” Anakin said breathily. Obi-Wan’s hips jerked and he groaned loudly. 

Obi-Wan spoke thickly, his speed increasing, the sound of their hips slapping together beginning to fill the small office. “You were so frustrating, Anakin, taking the last possible day, putting off as long as possible the moment that I could fuck you.” He thrust his hips harder. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose, Anankē, but you really have been driving me insane.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Anakin looked up at him, feeling vulnerable. “I didn’t want to leave, I didn’t want it to be over.”

“I know, dear one. ” Obi-Wan pushed Anakin’s apart legs wider and began fucking him rapidly. Anakin’s eyes rolled back and his head hit the desk again with another loud thunk. “It’s not over.” Obi-Wan vowed, and Anakin met his intense gaze. “You are not leaving.”

Anakin nodded loosely. “I’m going to graduate school here.” He whined as Obi-Wan shifted his hips for a better angle and began fucking him harder, thrusting in deliberately. “For AI stuff.”

“I know you are, Anakin.” Obi-Wan bent forward, pulling him back up slightly by the neck, kissing him hard before letting him drop back. “I had been hoping you would. I need you around, I already told you that, my Anankē.”

“Yes, Professor,” Anakin whined. ”I need you too. I...” Obi-Wan’s hand sped up on his cock, fucking him hard. Anakin moaned loudly and then whimpered. “I love you.” Obi-Wan’s rhythm broke off, and Anakin gasped. He hadn’t meant to say that. “Sorry, I mean, I—”

“I love you too,” Obi-Wan said roughly, fucking him even harder into the desk. Anakin couldn’t believe it. He felt like he was floating, he was so close to coming. Obi-Wan murmured, “You impossible, brilliant, idiot.” and jerked his cock hard, squeezing the head and twisting his wrist gently.

Anakin cried out loudly and came, spilling his come onto his stomach and chest.  Obi-Wan fucked him through his orgasm, and he slid a finger through Anakin’s come and tasted it. Anakin whined as Obi-Wan sucked his finger clean and groaned, his hands coming to grip Anakin’s hips tightly, holding him steady, fucking him hard. Anakin’s legs fell open wide, he opened himself up as much as possible to take Obi-Wan’s massive cock as well as he could. 

“Please, Professor,” Anakin murmured, reaching up and touching Obi-Wan's face, stroking his beard. “I want you to come, I want to see it. Will you come in me, please, Obi-Wan, please—” 

At the sound of his name, Obi-Wan’s face looked almost pained. He fucked in hard, hips jerking, and groaned, “Anankē.” Anakin smiled widely, holding eye contact, and Obi-Wan groaned again, louder, and slammed his hips in a final time before he came, his head dropping forward as his body tensed. Anakin watched, fascinated. It was the best thing he’d ever seen.

There was a long quiet moment as Obi-Wan’s orgasm cleared. Anakin was breathing deeply, processing what had just happened—what he’d just learned. He was so happy, he just couldn't believe it. Obi-Wan kissed him on the forehead and pulled out, making Anakin whine with disappointment. Obi-Wan huffed a laugh and stepped back to his bag, pulling out a packet of wet wipes. 

“You are such a neat freak.” Anakin laughed.

Obi-Wan smirked at him and began to clean them both up, snarking back, “You’re welcome."

Anakin sighed happily, letting him wipe his chest and stomach. “I love you.”

“And I you, my Anankē.”

Eight months after graduation...

The Society for Classical Studies had chosen to hold their joint meeting with the Archaeological Institute of America in Boston that year, much to Obi-Wan’s chagrin. The conference was always held in winter, and it was always heinous to travel in winter. He simply couldn’t wait for their plane home to be delayed by snow on the runway. 

Why Boston? Why not Hawaii?

Obi-Wan took a large sip of his second glass of wine. The house red was far too sweet for his taste, but taste wasn’t the primary criterion at the moment. It was essential to get and stay at least slightly buzzed, or else it would be impossible to deal with a room full of some of the most earnestly insufferable people in the world. 

Obi-Wan included himself in that number, with a sort of resigned pride. He’d just politely extricated himself from a conversation in which he’d been lured into participating in a futile argument about the Homeric Question, for fuck’s sake. What a waste of time. 

The large hotel bar was far too crowded. It was almost a blizzard outside, and nobody had wanted to venture out to find a different place to drink. As a result, there were far too many people that Obi-Wan recognized in one room, and he felt instant fatigue at the idea of engaging in conversation with many of them. 

It was the end of the second day of the conference, and Obi-Wan was very much ready to go home. He took another sip and then glared at his wine glass—it was unfortunately giving him a strong craving for a cigarette. It was Pavlovian, and pathetic. He needed to smoke, but Obi-Wan had a habit of never stepping out without at least checking in with Anakin.

He’d get anxious if Obi-Wan just left, but how could he tell him if he couldn’t find him? Should he just text him? He’d disappeared midway through the Homeric Question debate, so where did he even go? 

Where was Anakin? 

Obi-Wan shifted to let a group of grad students pass, and moved closer to the wall, his eyes scanning around the room as he took another long drink. It was too loud, and growing steadily louder as the evening wore on—the alcohol was effectively lubricating the awkwardness away. Conversations all around him were growing more animated, and the mood was celebratory and relaxed. 

Obi-Wan couldn’t relax. He had been running around all day, and had been so infuriatingly busy that he’d lost track of time, and now he’d lost track of Anakin, too. He needed a cigarette, and he needed to get out of the noise. He checked his phone, and frowned at the lack of messages. Why hadn’t he replied to Obi-Wan’s message? 

Where was he? 

“Where’s your paidika?” 

A smug, too-familiar voice spoke suddenly from behind his ear, making Obi-Wan start and almost spill his wine. He tensed and shot a dark look over his shoulder. “Hello to you too, Vos.” 

“Not happy to see me?” Quinlan asked, with a wounded expression. 

Obi-Wan gave him an unimpressed look. Quinlan’s suit was artfully disheveled, and he looked only slightly intoxicated. He casually slung an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders, which Obi-Wan immediately brushed off and stepped away, straightening his jacket and smoothing his tie with a huff. 

“I’ve told you a million times not to call him that.”

“And yet,” Quinlan said, stroking his chin in an exaggerated parody of Obi-Wan stroking his beard, “You’ve never given me a compelling reason not to.”

“I have,” Obi-Wan replied waspishly. ”Many times.” He finished the remaining wine in his glass in a large swallow and sighed. “He’s my husband now, will you just give it a rest?”

Quinlan grinned widely. “He’ll always be your paidika,” he said, emphasis on the second syllable, “If you know what I—” 

“Stop it.” Obi-Wan cut him off with an annoyed look. 

Quinlan put up his hands in surrender, and then dropped them, looking around curiously. “Where is he though? I don’t see him.”

Obi-Wan shrugged, turning away slightly and handing over his drink to the waitress collecting empty glasses. He looked back at Quinlan and made sure that his tone was unconcerned, “I don’t know.”

“Really?” Quinlan sounded taken aback. “You don’t know?”

Obi-Wan felt a surge of heat and clenched his jaw. He took a deep, calming breath, and relaxed his posture, speaking in a slightly pressed manner. “Yes, Quinlan. We got separated momentarily in a crowded room—it has been known to happen.”

Quinlan barked a laugh, waving him off. “Yeah, yeah, for normal couples maybe. You guys actually like each other.”

“Why are you this jaded?” Obi-Wan asked, exasperated. Quinlan took a long drink and then crossed his arms in front of his chest, giving Obi-Wan a meaningful look. Obi-Wan studied his face and then sighed, turning back to check the room. “Is she even here?”

Quinlan didn’t bother to pretend to be confused about who Obi-Wan meant. He shook his head sadly, “I haven’t seen her. Asajj is very good at avoiding me when she wants to.”

“You guys will work it out,” Obi-Wan said encouragingly. “You need to communicate better.” 

“Whatever.” Quinlan rolled his eyes and looked away, moving away slightly to see the back section of the bar. He perked up, and smirked at Obi-Wan, his voice turning smug and singsong. “I see your darling boy!”

Obi-Wan rebuked him sharply. “Quinlan!” 

“Your husband,” Quinlan corrected without remorse.

Obi-Wan gave him a frustrated look. “Thank you. Where is he?” Quinlan pulled Obi-Wan to his place and pointed. Obi-Wan sighed deeply, “Oh.”

Anakin was around the corner, standing near the entrance to the hallway leading to the restrooms, deep in conversation. As he gesticulated widely, excitedly discussing something, a growing number of people seemed to have gravitated toward the conversation. No wonder Quinlan had spotted him. The sharks were circling.

“How many grad students is that?” Quinlan sounded speculative. “They’re so tightly clustered it’s hard to count. Might be a new record.”  

Obi-Wan pushed down his desire to growl. “Why does this always happen?” 

Quinlan laughed, “You know why.” 

“I know why,” Obi-Wan confirmed, studying the way Anakin’s shirt stretched across his shoulders as he moved, and almost growled again, frustrated. He should have let Anakin wear his awful hoodie like he’d wanted. Not that it would have helped. 

Anakin’s cheeks were flushed, his curly hair a mess, and his glass empty. Obi-Wan watched him gesture with it, punctuating his point. The man he was talking to laughed, and replied quickly. Obi-Wan looked back at the bar and considered getting another drink. He took a deep, calming breath.

Anakin would be back soon. He could talk to other people. That was fine.

“Well?” Quinlan asked, “What are you going to do about it?”

“What? Nothing,” Obi-Wan replied defensively. “He’ll be back.” 

“Go get him.” Quinlan’s voice was full of amusement. He gave Obi-Wan a small push on the arm in Anakin’s direction. “You know you want to.” 

“Yes, alright.” Obi-Wan agreed, feeling slightly harassed. He moved away from Quinlan and walked across the room quickly. Something the man said made Anakin tip his head back and laugh loudly, and Obi-Wan clenched his jaw. It was time to go.

A grad student with an embarrassed look on his face mimed an explosion with his hands, and Anakin laughed loudly. He grinned at the mental image, and then sighed wistfully. “I wish I could have competed in proper robotics competitions when I was still in high school! My town was so small, I would have been the only one but… Damn.” He giggled, taking a sip and frowning at his empty glass. “I can’t believe they let you basically build a battlebot for a race.”

“Winning is winning, I guess,” the guy shrugged, smiling crookedly and taking a sip of his beer. He opened his mouth to say something else when the serious looking brunette next to him cut him off. 

“When you said you work with ontologies, did you mean that you are working on Parmenides right now?” Her voice was very intent. Anakin’s attention moved to her, trying to follow the question. “Or Aristotle?” 

“Neither,” Anakin said sadly, feeling a brief swell of thwarted longing, “I wish I was studying the Eleatics again, but no. Ontology means something different in information science.” He gestured to where another woman had just been standing, and frowned in confusion. A different woman had taken her place. “I’d been talking about the history of AI in the 90’s with… someone. I—”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan’s calm, accented voice cut clearly through the chatter. 

Anakin jumped and looked over, making eye contact. He felt a flood of warmth at the suppressed annoyance in Obi-Wan’s expression, a lightning strike of arousal going straight to his cock. He loved when Obi-Wan got possessive.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, and Anakin nodded and flashed a smile. He felt a surge of both guilt and guilty excitement when Obi-Wan’s smile in return didn’t reach his eyes. 

Oops… 

Anakin looked at the number of people in the knot around him, and sighed—he knew that he’d gotten stopped again, but hadn’t realized quite how long he’d been distracted. This happened all the time. 

Obi-Wan got pulled aside a lot too, but somehow he could always escape conversations quickly, whereas Anakin either got sucked into it, or was apparently super rude, and just walked away before the other person was aware the conversation was over. 

Obi-Wan’s politely neutral gaze was moving from face to face in the group before returning to Anakin. His words were mild, but managed to feel like a tug on an invisible leash. “We have an early flight tomorrow.” 

Anakin stared into his eyes for a long moment, and blushed deeper at the simmering emotion he found there. Obi-Wan raised both his eyebrows impatiently, and Anakin took a sharp breath and broke eye contact, turning back to the group and nodding an apology generally.

He extricated himself from the crowd, hyperaware of the feeling of Obi-Wan’s eyes intently tracking his progress. People let him leave reluctantly and after a pause, Anakin heard the conversation resume behind him, with less enthusiasm.

Obi-Wan watched his approach, shaking his head in mock despair. “Why does this always happen, Anankē?” He reflexively fixed Anakin’s collar, giving him a dark look. “Why must I always extricate you from a throng of admirers?”

“I’m sorry,” Anakin murmured, face burning. He looked down, breath catching as he watched Obi-Wan’s quick fingers adjust and smooth down his shirt on his chest. He felt slightly woozy, the faint light from the hanging geodesic lamps wasn’t quite enough to see clearly. He licked his lips and tried again, “I got distracted.”

“You’re drunk,” Obi-Wan said reproachfully, frowning and studying Anakin’s face. He took the empty glass out of Anakin’s hand and placed it gently on a nearby table. “Was that your third or fourth?”

“Third!” Anakin said quickly. “I’m not drunk, I’m just…” He struggled for the right word, trying to get the frown to go away. “Not sober.” Obi-Wan looked unimpressed, and Anakin hastened to keep explaining. “I’m sorry, Obi-Wan, I just… I got distracted. We were talking about computer science, they asked me to explain something and I can’t just not…” 

“You can very well not,” Obi-Wan pointed out, grumpily. “I taught you how to politely avoid a conversation. We even practiced before we came.”

“I know...” Anakin tried to prevent his bottom lip from sticking out, but Obi-Wan’s eyes tracked to his pout anyway. “I’m not good at it, and she asked me about AI!”

“Of course she did. They always, somehow, know to ask about AI.” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, and then sighed. He looked Anakin up and down, eyes lingering on his mouth and Anakin felt his face grow hot again. Obi-Wan turned away, looking for the door. “Let’s go.”

“Alright,” Anakin agreed, getting close to Obi-Wan’s side and murmuring suggestively in his ear, “Let’s go, Professor.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped to his face. “Anakin…” 

“What, Professor?” Anakin asked, tilting his head to the side, putting on his listening face and biting his lip. His cheeks felt warm, and he ran a hand through his hair, scratching slightly and probably managing to mess it up even more.

Obi-Wan’s eyes followed his hand and returned to Anakin’s mouth before squaring his shoulders and looking away, jaw clenched. “We’re leaving.”

“Whatever you want, Professor.” Anakin touched his arm lightly, his fingers trailing down his bicep. 

Obi-Wan caught and removed his hand with a dark look. He said repressively, “Stop it.”

“Fine, Obi-Wan,” Anakin murmured his name, enjoying the way it shaped his mouth. Obi-Wan’s name was his favorite word to say, so he said it again. “Obi-Wan…”

“Don’t do that either.” Obi-Wan huffed a frustrated breath, giving him one last look before turning and beginning to walk away. “We’re going.”

Anakin tagged along after him, doing his best to slide between groups without losing Obi-Wan—he was moving so fast, and Anakin couldn’t look away from his smooth, confident stride. He looked untouchable; he looked incredible. It was still impossible that he wanted Anakin too—still wonderful even after months and months.

Obi-Wan sighed loudly as they stepped through the bar doors into a quieter hallway. His shoulders dropped and he pinched his nose, and Anakin felt a swell of concern. He studied Obi-Wan’s face, and asked as gently as he could, “Do you need to smoke?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied, dropping his hand from his face and giving Anakin an irritated, resigned look. “I have to have a deathstick, or my headache will only get worse.” He began patting his pockets to check for his cigarette case, his expression full of self-reproach. 

Anakin watched, desperate to kiss the sadness and anger off his face, but he knew beyond doubt that Obi-Wan didn’t want him to do that right now. It ached, he wanted to help so badly. Anakin stared for a long moment before a thought struck. “Where are you going to go? It’s snowing outside.”

“I’m aware,” Obi-Wan said shortly, huffing a sigh of relief when he located cigarettes and a pack of matches. He began to walk toward the elevators.

Anakin stayed at his side, asking curiously, “What are you going to do?” 

Obi-Wan gave him a look like the answer was obvious. “I’m going to the parking garage.”

“Won’t it be cold?” Anakin’s brow furrowed, and he barely resisted touching Obi-Wan’s arm again. He wanted Obi-Wan to slow down, he wanted him to let Anakin apologize—let Anakin touch him, kiss him, make him feel better...

“Probably.” Obi-Wan shrugged, in maddeningly casual dismissal of what seemed to Anakin like a rather large problem.

Anakin asked, earnest and concerned, “Do you want to go to the room first and get your coat?” 

“No, Anankē,” Obi-Wan cracked his neck, and gave him a sideways look. “The alcohol is giving me a perfectly serviceable delusion of warmth. I will be fine.”

“You will be fine?” Anakin asked warily, his stomach dropping. “Am I not coming too?” 

They reached the elevators and Obi-Wan pressed the down button and held his hand by the up, giving him a flat look. “I don’t know, Anankē, are you coming?”

Anakin nodded, and swallowed. Every time Obi-Wan said Anankē, his cock got harder. He was already uncomfortable in his slacks, so he drew closer and answered suggestively under his breath. “Yes, Erastēs, I’d like to come.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes met his sharply, and Anakin felt a spike of desire. He swore he saw a gleam of intent in Obi-Wan’s eyes, but then Obi-Wan abruptly looked away when the doors opened and the connection was broken. 

“We’ll see,” Obi-Wan muttered darkly and walked inside the elevator, swiftly pressing the button at the bottom of the panel. He leaned against the wall, a slightly pained look on his face. 

Anakin bit his lip and let the silence stretch between them. He sighed in relief when the door slid closed without any other passengers and the elevator began to descend. He couldn’t catch Obi-Wan’s eye again, and felt viscerally that his body language was all wrong.

Obi-Wan looked so mad—so mad, tired, and sad.

“I really am sorry I left you alone, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said quietly. 

Obi-Wan sighed and looked at him for a moment before turning his head back to watch the floor numbers counting down. “I know, Anankē.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Anakin said earnestly, stepping closer, but Obi-Wan didn’t react. 

“I know,” Obi-Wan said calmly. “We talked about this.”

“I know, but…” Anakin said, reaching out a hand and laying it on Obi-Wan’s arm, but Obi-Wan still didn’t react. “I’m so sorry, Professor.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw clenched, and he didn’t turn his head. “I am aware.” 

Anakin dropped his hand, feeling a sting of rejection. He took a step back and turned toward the elevator doors, running his hand through his hair. Obi-Wan seemed so unhappy, it was awful.

The doors opened on the deepest level of the parking garage, cool air rushing in. Without wind and snow, the cold was not as biting as Anakin had feared—or maybe he was as drunk as Obi-Wan told him he was. It was probably the second one. 

Obi-Wan stepped out first, and Anakin followed close behind. “Where’re you gonna go?”

“If you could wait about thirty seconds, you’d find out.”

Anakin flushed at Obi-Wan’s exasperated tone. “I know, sorry. I just say stuff sometimes—things I’m thinking when I’m thinking.”

“I’m aware that you do, Anankē,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head and huffing a laugh. “Quite aware.” He took a moment to scan for the cameras, and then headed off, walking rapidly down a row. 

Anakin followed, matching Obi-Wan’s steady, rapid steps to the best of his ability, but always felt on the verge of tripping over his feet. It felt like Obi-Wan was magnetically pulling him along, and he was helpless but to follow.  

Obi-Wan turned sharply around a corner into an even more shadowy row of cars. It was so quiet, the scuffing of their feet was the only thing making noise. Obi-Wan walked a bit further, stopping when he found a shadowy, private spot on the far side of a large black SUV.  

He fished in his jacket for his cigarettes, and Anakin hovered nearby, so aware of the sound of their breathing, and the distance between their bodies. Nobody was around, they were alone. Obi-Wan placed an unlit cigarette in his lips, and Anakin stared at the way the filter pressed gently on Obi-Wan’s pink bottom lip. 

Anakin hated when Obi-Wan smoked, but he knew he hated it for the wrong reasons. It was bad for him, or whatever, but it also trapped Anakin in a private hell of wanting to steal the cigarette away and suck on his lips. While sober, Anakin found Obi-Wan smoking to be unbearably sexy to watch, and while tipsy it was torture. 

He studied the veins on the backs of Obi-Wan’s strong hands as Obi-Wan dexterously lit a match in one strike. He cupped and held the flame close to his face, casting a flickering glow, and making his beard and hair gleam. He shook the match and dropped it, sucking in a deep breath, holding it for a moment and then sighing loudly with relief, his eyes sliding closed. 

Anakin ran a hand through his curls again. He felt so flustered, his cock was throbbing. Obi-Wan’s body language was better, in that he looked less pained, but he still looked stressed and annoyed. After a few more long moments of watching Obi-Wan smoke in silence, Anakin blurted out, “Can I make it up to you?”

Obi-Wan studied his face and said blandly, flicking his cigarette, “If you want.” 

“I do want,” Anakin said in a low murmur, drawing closer. He knew it was cold, but he couldn’t feel it anymore—he felt like he was burning up. His heart was pounding, alcohol and desire twin flames in his blood. He took a shaky breath. “Can I please, Erastēs?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and gestured vaguely to the ground in front of him. “Feel free.”

Anakin nodded, moving quickly to sink to his knees on the cold concrete in front of Obi-Wan. He registered on some level that the hard ground was uncomfortable on his knees, but quickly forgot—raising his hands, he reverently stroked the outline of Obi-Wan’s hardening cock in his slacks. 

Anakin looked up, eyes wide, voice quiet. “I’m always on my way to you when I get sidetracked, Obi-Wan.” He leaned forward and kissed the clothed outline of Obi-Wan’s cock, vowing quietly, “I’m always on my way back to you.”

Obi-Wan affectionately stroked a hand through Anakin’s hair. “I’m always looking for you too, darling.” He took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling through his teeth. “Though you do have a tendency to get lost, my love.”

Anakin felt hot. He looked straight ahead and focused hard on undoing Obi-Wan’s belt with trembling hands. “I’m sorry, Obi-Wan, I really don’t notice when it’s happening.” 

“I know you don't, darling, and it’s maddening,” Obi-Wan said. He sighed and flicked his cigarette away. His tone became full of a kind of dark amusement. “I guess it all works out in the end.”

“Why, Professor?” Anakin asked shakily, opening Obi-Wan’s pants. He took a deep breath and freed Obi-Wan’s hard cock, other hand gently cupping his balls. 

Obi-Wan hissed a breath, and Anakin gently stroked his fingers along the length, marvelling as always at the size of Obi-Wan’s hard cock. Anakin sucked spit into his mouth and looked up, the question in his eyes. 

Obi-Wan looked down at him with a satisfied glint in his eyes, stroking Anakin’s hair again fondly. He explained in his kindest instructional tone. “It works out because I’m the one that gets to fuck you, Anankē.”  

Anakin’s eyes slid closed, his cock throbbing. He hummed and nodded hastily in agreement, his fingers gently surrounding the head of Obi-Wan’s cock and squeezing, pulling slightly.

Obi-Wan exhaled hard and said, “Open your mouth.” Without thought, Anakin immediately obeyed, relaxing his jaw and sticking out his tongue. “Good…” Obi-Wan murmured. “Very good. Suck my cock, Anakin. Make it up to me.” 

Anakin nodded again, leaning closer and licking from Obi-Wan’s balls along the length of his cock, spreading his saliva. Obi-Wan’s breathing was unsteady, and Anakin felt a surge of pride. He sucked the tip of Obi-Wan’s cock into his mouth, and licked the slit, moaning at the taste of Obi-Wan’s precome.

Obi-Wan’s hips jerked forward slightly in reaction, and his hands tightened in Anakin’s hair. “Very good, paidika.” 

Anakin whined, bobbing his head up and down for a moment, sucking on the head, before taking Obi-Wan’s cock as deep in his throat as he could. He let Obi-Wan stuff his face full of cock for a moment, and then pulled back to breathe. Obi-Wan stroked his head again, and Anakin beamed up at him. He asked eagerly,  “Was that right, Professor?”

Obi-Wan huffed a laugh, running his thumb along Anakin’s cheekbone fondly. Anakin stared up at him, captivated by the sight of Obi-Wan’s arousal—his cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright. “It was excellent work, Anakin.”

Anakin felt a spike of desire and happiness, and let Obi-Wan’s cock push back between his lips and slide down his tongue, deep into his mouth. Obi-Wan’s cock was so thick, Anakin had to relax his jaw as much as he could, letting Obi-Wan fuck down his throat—even then, Anakin couldn’t get the whole length in his mouth. 

He moved his head back, gasping and stroked his hand on Obi-Wan’s cock quickly, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he caught his breath.

Anakin opened his mouth, ready to suck it back into his mouth again when Obi-Wan’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. “Stop.”

Anakin’s breath caught. He clicked his mouth closed and sat back on his heels, looking up in confusion. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” Obi-Wan’s face was so flushed, his breathing almost as unsteady as Anakin’s own. His hand slid to the back of Anakin’s neck, and he tugged up gently. “Stand up.” 

Anakin scrambled to his feet, standing and wincing slightly at the pain in his knees. Obi-Wan gave him an apologetic peck on the lips, and then grabbed him by the hips, spinning him around unexpectedly. 

Anakin made a surprised noise, and then moaned when Obi-Wan pushed him forward, bending him over the hood of a car and kicking his legs apart. Anakin’s cheek and palms were suddenly pressed against the cool metal of the hood, and he whined pathetically when Obi-Wan pulled his hips back, removing the relieving pressure away from his cock. 

Anakin whined again when Obi-Wan roughly unbuttoned and pulled down his pants. Obi-Wan huffed a laugh at the small noise and spanked him gently. Anakin looked back up at him, panting and grinning. It was perfect, and Obi-Wan’s hand came to rest gently on his ass, stroking him gently. 

Obi-Wan gave Anakin a pleased, knowing look and began to go through his pockets again, speaking in a low, warning tone. “Now, you’ll have to be very quiet, Anakin. Every moan will echo.”

“I’ll try,” Anakin said breathily, swallowing and trying again. “You know I’m bad at that.”

“You’ll have to at least try, darling,” Obi-Wan said with a smile in his voice.

Anakin nodded, his cheek pressed against the metal. His eyes focused on the hood and had a moment of intense gratitude that the car was clean. Of course, Obi-Wan would pick a clean car for this. He looked back at Obi-Wan and spoke in a tone that betrayed no confidence whatsoever in his ability to be quiet, “I’ll do my best.” Obi-Wan pulled out a condom and a packet of lube, and Anakin gasped shakily, “You brought that?”

“Yes, Anakin—” Obi-Wan looked smug, ripping open the condom and rolling it on. “—Of course I did.” He gave Anakin a satisfied smile as he rubbed lube on his hands and cock. His voice was low and intent, and he reached to stroke the sensitive skin of Anakin’s entrance, slicking him with lube there too. “Do you know the reason why?”

“Why?” Anakin whined, pushing back against Obi-Wan’s soft touch, desperate for more contact, more pressure. 

Obi-Wan continued to stroke him, pressing a bit harder against his skin, teasing his entrance with the tips of his fingers. Anakin bit off a moan, and Obi-Wan murmured, his voice husky and low, “So I could fuck you whenever I wanted, paidika.” He abruptly slid two slick fingers hard into Anakin’s ass, and Anakin moaned loudly. Obi-Wan chucked, “Quiet, love.” 

“S-sorry, Obi-Wan, I’m so sorry.” Anakin gasped, the world disappearing except for the cool metal beneath him, and the incredible sensation of Obi-Wan fucking him gently with his fingers. He watched with anticipation as Obi-Wan gathered lube on his other hand and reached down, stroking Anakin’s aching cock. 

Anakin choked on his breath and bit his lip, trying desperately to stop himself from moaning again. Obi-Wan’s hand stroked him steadily, his wrist twisting gently, and he began to murmur, his tone intent. “Do not apologize. You have no reason to be sorry, paidika. You’re so beautiful, so clever. Everyone can see it, not just me. It’s infuriating.”

Anakin felt his face burning. He struggled to breathe, the pleasure almost overwhelming his ability to think. His mouth felt numb. Obi-Wan’s low fervent tone praising him was causing his mind to go blank. He whined, “I’m still sorry…”

Obi-Wan’s hand sped up on his cock and he shook his head. “Do not apologize, dear one. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault that the things you do drive me insane. You’re so distracting sometimes, Anakin, I can’t think about anything but fucking you, sliding my cock in your tight ass, making you take it…”

Anakin whined, his cock was so incredibly hard, his stomach so tight, pleasure was crackling up and down his spine, “Professor, please, I'm going to come…” 

Obi-Wan made a thoughtful noise. “Can’t have you make a mess, can we?”

“No, we can’t, you don’t like it,” Anakin panted. Obi-Wan’s hands hadn’t stopped moving, and were dragging him closer and closer to the edge. He whined, “Professor, stop… or I’ll come, I’m so close…” 

“Come in my hand,” Obi-Wan ordered, cupping and squeezing the tip of Anakin’s cock gently and continuing to fuck Anakin’s ass with his fingers, pressing down hard, and deliberately stroking along Anakin’s prostate. “Come now, Anankē.”  

Anakin gasped and came on command, trying so hard not to make a sound—he pressed a hand on his mouth, biting into it as he released, spilling his come into Obi-Wan’s waiting fist. The pleasure was impossibly good, an overwhelming wave that seemed to stretch out forever. 

“Very good, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, voice filled with satisfaction and pride. He took his hands off Anakin’s body, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping them clean. “You did just what you were told, Anakin, you did so well. Thank you, darling…”

“I love you, Obi-Wan,” Anakin murmured, shifting his hips slightly, relaxed his muscles, getting himself ready for Obi-Wan to fuck him—he’d gotten so good at getting ready to take it. 

Obi-Wan noticed his subtle readjustments and folded the dirty handkerchief, putting it away in a pocket. “Do you want me to fuck you, Anakin?”

“Yes, please,” Anakin begged, spreading his legs as best he could with his pants around his ankles. He frowned and kicked one foot free, spreading wider and arching his back more. 

“Beautiful, darling,” Obi-Wan murmured, grabbing Anakin’s hips and holding him still with a tight grip. “Very good.”

Anakin felt the tip of Obi-Wan’s cock finally come to press for a long moment against his entrance and he begged in a fervent whisper. “Oh, please, please, I want you to—”

Obi-Wan suddenly pushed the tip in, and Anakin lost his train of thought, and whimpered loudly. 

“Sorry, what was that, darling?” Obi-Wan gave him a fond smile, and he began to thrust in, working himself in deeper and deeper. Anakin willed himself to relax and open up around him, to take Obi-Wan’s cock as smoothly as possible. He whined and babbled as Obi-Wan began to fuck him faster and harder, a smooth rhythm building. Obi-Wan teased him, “Are you trying to say something, paidika?” 

Anakin whimpered, biting his bottom lip. He shook his head, pressing his cheek against the cool metal, grounding himself, as Obi-Wan fucked him harder. 

Obi-Wan’s pace sped up, and he bent forward, murmuring possessively in Anakin’s ear between forceful thrusts, “I get to take you home, Anakin. I get to keep you. You’re mine, not theirs. I love you.”

”I love you too,” Anakin whispered. “More than anything.”

Obi-Wan kissed the back of Anakin’s neck and stood up straight again, attention returning to fucking Anakin with deliberate roughness and speed. It felt like Obi-Wan was getting so close. He needed to come, Anakin wanted him to come more than anything.

“I’m yours, only yours,” Anakin promised, letting Obi-Wan have control of his body, staying loose under his hands, and letting Obi-Wan take him exactly how he wanted. Anakin vowed. “Nobody else, ever.”

“Nobody else, ever,” Obi-Wan said darkly, hips stuttering as Anakin spoke. He punctuated his words with sharp thrusts. “Not ever.”

“I promise, Obi-Wan. I do.” Anakin echoed their vows, curling around to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes seriously. “I do.”

Obi-Wan groaned quietly, his cock sliding in deep on last time and then he came, his eyes squeezing shut as he spilled his come deep inside Anakin’s body, his orgasm washing over his face, and it was so beautiful, so perfect. 

They stayed perfectly still for a long moment, appreciating the closeness. Anakin focused all of his attention on how it felt to be full of Obi-Wan’s cock, never wanting to forget how perfect it was at that moment. “I love you, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan sighed and pulled out of Anakin, using his handkerchief to gently clean up his mess. He removed the condom with another sigh, tying it off and grimacing as he wrapped it in the handkerchief, shoving it in a pocket to throw away soon.

Obi-Wan shot Anakin a guilty look and admitted quietly, “I’m sorry about all that, Anakin. I know it’s not supposed to bother me when you talk to other people.”

“But it does?” Anakin murmured, studying his face.

Obi-Wan sighed and stroked Anakin’s back gently one more time before stepping away, tucking himself back inside his pants. “Yes, it does.”

“Why?” Anakin asked, baffled. He stood up and gave Obi-Wan a curious look. “You know I love you more than anything.”

“Yes, I do know that,” Obi-Wan said, awkwardly. Anakin struggled to pull his pants back up over his shoe and scowled at his feet. Obi-Wan coughed, disguising a laugh, and then looked away. He pulled out another cigarette, lit it quickly, and took a drag. 

Anakin watched him fondly, but his gaze sharpened when Obi-Wan spoke again, his tone slightly uncomfortable. “I think because I had to watch you for so long before I could be with you... I was always afraid I would have to watch it happen.” 

“Watch what happen?” Anakin frowned, fastening his belt and trying to smooth a hand through his hair.

“I don't know. For you to fall for someone else.” Obi-Wan sounded ashamed.

Anakin reached out his left hand, tangling it in Obi-Wan’s so that their rings touched. He tugged gently and began to pull Obi-Wan back toward the elevators. Anakin smiled at the way Obi-Wan let himself be guided, still lost in the faint aftershocks of orgasm.

Anakin laughed at the idea of finding someone else when Obi-Wan existed. He squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand in reassurance. “You never had to worry, Obi-Wan.”

2 years before graduation… 

Class had been underway for almost exactly eight minutes when the door opened with a startling bang, and Obi-Wan sighed. He knew it had been almost exactly eight minutes because he had been keeping one eye on the clock, waiting for the inevitable. 

He’d been dreading this moment ever since he’d woken up and seen the weather forecast. It was the first truly warm morning of the spring, and Obi-Wan had a very bad feeling about what that implied. He vowed internally that he would not react, no matter what he saw. 

It was essential that he appear completely unaffected. He had plenty of practice, and it was his responsibility as an educator. The entire semester had already been a trial, why not today too?

Obi-Wan himself had already been overheating in his usual outfit on his way to work, and so it had been necessary for him to take his jacket off while teaching, which was something he preferred not to do. His iced tea had not helped cool him down, either. If he felt the heat, then… His eyes involuntarily slid sideways to the figure rushing through the door, and everything stopped. His heartbeat stuttered, and he froze on instinct, chest stilling, breath caught.

He kept his body still, face smooth—nobody in the room was allowed to see him react, especially not Anakin. 

Obi-Wan wrenched his eyes away as soon as he was free to move them, but it still felt like he had the image burned on his retinas, as if he’d been trying to look directly at the sun. The bare, golden skin of Anakin’s broad shoulders lingered in his mind’s eye like an afterimage. 

Obi-Wan blinked, and then blinked again, trying to forget.

Anakin was wearing athletic shorts and a tank top, his backpack casually slung over a shoulder, clearly coming to class straight from the gym. Obi-Wan knew that Anakin must have overslept and hadn’t had time to shower before rushing to class, and he hated that he had that kind of understanding of a student’s routine. 

There was still sweat in the curls at Anakin’s temples, and a glistening sheen on his brow. He immediately apologized, as always, “Sorry I’m late, Professor.”

Obi-Wan swallowed. He had taught Anakin for almost two years at this point, and at some point Anakin’s ‘Professor’ had stopped sounding like a polite title, and began sounding like something far more complex and weighty. Obi-Wan actively resisted hearing the meaning Anakin caressed into the word, and shifted on his seat. 

“Here, Anakin. Take your test.” Obi-Wan spoke quietly, keeping his voice carefully disinterested. 

Anakin obediently stopped at Obi-Wan’s desk in the front of the room, standing close by the side of his chair. Obi-Wan breathed through his mouth, attempting to not smell him—his hair, his sweat, his skin. He pulled the test from the manila folder, holding it out and looking up, his eyes deliberately seeking Anakin’s eyes, not lingering anywhere else. 

“This was excellent work, Anakin.”

It had been a perfect test, a perfect translation, perfect parsing, perfect analysis. Anakin’s messy handwriting was the only indication that it was not an answer key.

Anakin took the test back, his already pink cheeks flushing crimson. He murmured, “Thank you, Professor.” 

Obi-Wan broke eye contact and looked back at the rest of the class. Almost all of the women and half of the men were staring at the defined muscles of Anakin’s bare upper arms and shoulders. Anakin shoved his test haphazardly in his backpack, making Obi-Wan wince at the sound of crumpling paper, and moved quickly towards his seat in the back of the room. 

Once he’d moved out of Obi-Wan’s personal space, Obi-Wan took a deep breath, attempting to relax. His eyes immediately and involuntarily drifted to focus on the way Anakin’s shorts slid to expose the soft, golden skin on the back of his thighs as he walked away. Obi-Wan’s cock twitched, and he yanked his gaze away from Anakin again. 

He was furious at himself for looking, and furious at his body for reacting the way it did to perfectly innocuous details of Anakin’s body and his brilliant mind and the sound of his voice and… Obi-Wan swallowed again, making sure that his face was neutral, his posture was relaxed, and that everything was under control. 

Anakin finally shuffled to the back, finding his seat and sitting down heavily. His arms flexed as he reached for his backpack, and Obi-Wan turned his head away entirely. He nodded towards Ferus, and spoke in a steady, loud voice that snapped the class back to reality. “Ferus, if you would be so kind as to continue class.”

Ferus blinked and looked at his book, began to read out loud again, “...All’humin baruterai gegonasin kai epipth—” He stumbled and tried again, “—epi-ph-thon-ōterai, hōste zēteite autōn nuni apallagēnai…” 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes while Ferus read and tried to focus on the sound of the words in the Greek, no matter how haltingly delivered. One of the most influential texts in Western history, delivered one mispronounced word at a time.

Ferus reached the end of his passage, and Obi-Wan opened his eyes. He looked directly at Ferus, ignoring the other side of the room where he could hear the small noises of Anakin getting his book and a pencil out of his bottom of his messy backpack. “Good, thank you. In English?”

“Umm,” Ferus looked nervous. “Right. Much…. love of soul…  would certainly hold uh… me… uh.. have me? I have?... oh Athenian men, if thus irrational I am… so as not... be able to reckon…”

Obi-Wan listened to his attempt to translate the Greek with a impartial expression, making light notes on the side of his book in pencil about points of grammatical interest, correctly or incorrectly rendered. He nodded sharply once Ferus finished anxiously, “... so as… might seek now to be… set free from… them.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan said, and resisted smiling as Ferus huffed out a relieved breath at being finished. “Can you explain to me the difference between the parallel hōstes?”

“Umm,” Ferus, looked at his notes and then looked back up blankly. “I thought they were the same.”

“Not quite,” Obi-Wan smiled at him. “Anyone else?” 

There was a hush, all the students studiously looking down or away. Obi-Wan swallowed and had to turn his attention to the other side of the room. 

Anakin was sitting there impatiently, his long, bare legs a tangle beneath the desk, his hand slightly raised. As Obi-Wan turned his head, Anakin stretched it higher, and Obi-Wan’s eyes were pulled to the light brown hair in his armpit, and his mind immediately went blank. 

Suddenly the hair under Anakin’s arm was the hair between Anakin’s legs, the hair around Anakin’s cock—a great flood of imagination bursting all at once into a kaleidoscope of Anakin nude, Anakin stroking himself, Anakin coming, pink cheeked and moaning. 

Obi-Wan blinked and forcibly looked back to Anakin’s face, tone dispassionate. “Yes, Anakin?”

Anakin straightened and answered quickly, seeking his approval, “The first one introduces a natural result clause, Professor, and the second one introduces an actual result clause.”

“Correct,” Obi-Wan said. His voice was light, and level. His cock was throbbing. He took a breath, willing his arousal away, trying as hard as possible to just teach. “How could you tell the difference?”

Anakin didn’t have notes out, but answered immediately. “Dunasthai is an infinitive, and zēteite is indicative.”

“It is?” Ferus frowned at his notes, and then looked at Anakin with a defensive glower. “No, it’s not. It can’t be, there’s an iota. It’s an optative.”  

Anakin took a breath, about to reply, and Obi-Wan held up a hand, warning him to stay quiet. Anakin’s mouth immediately clicked shut, and he slumped back in his chair, arms crossed. 

Obi-Wan tried to ignore how Anakin’s unthinking obedience made him feel. It’s just the heat, just his clothes—all Anakin’s bare skin. Obi-Wan’s cock throbbed again and he felt a surge of self-loathing. He willed his body’s reaction away, willed himself to be better, to be focused, to be a teacher. 

“It is indicative,” Obi-Wan explained gently to the room at large, looking back at Ferus. He was in control. “Remember that zētein is an epsilon-contract verb.”

“Right,” Ferus sighed loudly, shooting another dark look across the room. “Of course it is.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Can you tell me what baruterai and epiphthonōterai agree with?”

“Agree with?” Ferus looked concerned. “I thought they were datives of manner.”

“No,” Obi-Wan smiled slightly. “They’re not dative. I’m again sorry the text uses iota adscript notation, if that led you astray—but they are both nominative plural feminine comparative adjectives.”

“Oh,” Ferus said. “Then I guess… politai?”

“That’s masculine,” Anakin said, a disdainful look on his face.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said sharply, turning his head to give him a warning look, and ended up staring intently into his eyes. Anakin began turning pink. “Is it your turn?”

“No, Professor,” Anakin said, breaking eye contact and looking down at his book, expression contrite.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan shook his head and forcibly refocused on Ferus. “They both agree with the gender of diatribas.”

“But that’s an accusative,” Ferus said, tone full of despair. “They’re datives, aren’t they? No wait, right, they’re nominatives. Right.”

Obi-Wan heard Anakin sigh, and had to fight to keep a fond smile off his face. Sometimes that having Anakin in his class was like having a graduate student sitting in, at least in terms of Greek reading comprehension.

Obi-Wan had discovered quickly that there was no question he could ask about grammar or meaning that Anakin couldn’t and wouldn’t answer rapidly. Other students found this infuriating, and Obi-Wan had to work hard to keep a handle on him during class—but Obi-Wan secretly found this tendency extremely endearing. 

Anakin had an incredible memory, a precise and logical mind, and no patience for people who struggled to answer questions that to him seemed to have a clear and obvious answer. Obi-Wan assumed that his work in computer science trained him to think in a rigorously analytical fashion that was rare in the type of people interested in the humanities.

In some ways, Anakin was much more like an austere 19th century German philologist than a modern American classical scholar, and Obi-Wan loved that about him. 

Obi-Wan frowned at himself, and refocused on teaching. “They’re in a separate clause, Ferus. Normally they would be masculine, because they would agree with logous. Do you have an idea of why they are feminine?”

“No, I don’t know,” Ferus shook his head. “I didn’t know they agreed with anything at all.”

“Anyone else?” Obi-Wan gave the rest of the room a cursory glance, and his eye landed back on an eager Anakin. “Yes, Anakin?”

“Well, Professor,” Anakin began, absently running an hand through his hair, making a mess that Obi-Wan’s fingers almost ached to set right. The muscles in Anakin's arm flexed, sliding under the skin in a mesmerizing show of strength. His voice was knowing, and superior. “If you read it out right, you’d notice that logous is essentially a qualification and explanation of diatribas, and diatribas remains the semantic subject that carries forward into the rest of the argument. He’s still talking about his pastimes and time wasting in general, not just his discourses specifically.”

“Does that make sense, Ferus?” Obi-Wan asked, and received a sharp nod. He gave him an encouraging smile. “Good, thank you.” 

Obi-Wan looked across the row and then down at his text, selecting the next passage. “Darra, starting with kalos oun and ending at… well… zēn is too short. Can you take us all the way to autous toutous?”

“Yes!” Darra replied cheerfully, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she leaned over her book. “I can do that.”

Obi-Wan refocused on his text, and let class flow forward. He was fairly certain that he’d navigated the beginning of class without openly advertising his various ongoing internal crises to anyone. It was handy to have learned a stiff upper lip at his public school in England. Nobody could know what he thought, what he wanted. Especially not Anakin.

Finally, it was Anakin’s turn to translate. Obi-Wan took a deep breath, scanning the text to determine the length of the passage, and felt a swell of dread. Of course Anakin would get this passage. This class was a level of hell designed for Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan alone. He made a humming noise of deliberation and then said, “Anakin, can you take us through to legonti?”

“Yes, Professor,” Anakin murmured, eyes hastily scanning his passage. “No problem.” He took a deep breath and began to read. “Eant’au legō hoti kai tunkhanei megiston agathon hon anthrōpōi touto…” 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, listening intently to his voice. Anakin didn’t stumble or repeat himself, but read the Greek in a continuous flowing stream. Obi-Wan let the sound wash over him, allowing himself to enjoy the way Anakin’s melodic voice shaped the vowels. 

“… hekastēs hēmeras peri aretēs tous logous poieisthai kai tōn allōn peri hōn humeis emou akouete dialegomenou kai emauton kai allous eksetazontos…” 

Anakin’s tone and inflection were excellent, and he already had almost enough understanding of the Greek to be able to consistently add correct emphasis, and when he did, the result was beautiful. 

Obi-Wan swallowed and opened his eyes, unable to resist staring at the way the morning light streamed in through the windows behind Anakin as he read, illuminating the burnished gold in his hair into a halo. His exposed skin almost seemed to glow too—he was almost too handsome to be real, a statue come to life, one of the most famous passages in the history of philosophy pouring from his mouth.

“… ho de aneksetastos bios ou biōtos anthrōpōi, tauta d’eti hētton peisesthe moi legonti.”

Obi-Wan blinked, and looked away. His chest hurt, but in a different way than it usually did when he looked at Anakin. More than his usual aching desire to touch, he felt a new strong desire to hold. He wanted to keep this moment, make it last forever, have it always be with him. Anakin was so beautiful.

Reaching the end of his passage, Anakin bit his lip and looked up anxiously. There was a moment of silence, and Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “Good, thank you. In English?”

Anakin nodded and translated easily, “... and if I say that each day conversing concerning excellence (or concerning those other things about which you hear me talking and examining myself and others) is the greatest good for man, and that the unexamined life is not worth living, you will believe me still less." He finished with satisfaction, and looked up, smiling awkwardly. “Was that right, Professor?”

“Very good, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, voice as mild as he could make it. He took a deep breath and looked down at his desk, absently tapping his pen and bouncing his leg to channel all of the nervous energy that was rushing through him. He needed class to be over. He couldn’t handle this for another moment. This was torture. “Why is hēmeras genitive?”

Anakin gave him a look that implied he was insulted by the question. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and tipped his head slightly toward the rest of the room, and Anakin answered dutifully, “It’s a genitive of time within which.”

“Thank you, and what form is biōtos?”

“It’s a gerundive.”

“Very good,” Obi-Wan nodded once, “Can you explain the gerundive?”

“It’s a verbal adjective, Professor.” Anakin spoke without hesitation, without notes. He looked intently at Obi-Wan, studying his face for reaction. Obi-Wan knew what Anakin wanted to see, and he made sure it wasn’t there. “It indicates necessity for the action of the verb to be performed. It takes a dative of agent.”

Obi-Wan asked leadingly, “So, the aneksetastos bios ou biōtos anthrōpōi…”

“It means that without critical examination of life, there is no necessity for a life to be lived. Life’s not worth living without philosophy, Professor.”

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan smiled slightly, “It is not.” 

Anakin smiled back, his eyes radiating a kind of joy that Obi-Wan recognized as signifying his pride in his ability to read Greek, his appreciation of the content of the text they were reading, and his thrill at any crumb of approval that he could get from Obi-Wan. He looked so alive, so excited to have Obi-Wan’s eyes on him. He was so beautiful.  

Obi-Wan’s cock throbbed, and he realized they’d maintained eye contact for too long. He looked away to check the expressions on the faces of the other students, gauging the level of comprehension. Nobody looked lost, but several were quietly packing their bags. Obi-Wan checked the clock, and realized that class was almost done. “Good work today, everyone. If you all will prepare to…” He flipped to the next page. “Go to the beginning of 39. That should be reasonable.” 

Giving the assignment was like breaking a spell—the room immediately filled with people chattering, moving, packing bags. Obi-Wan sat back slightly in his chair and looked at the ceiling, trying to use his willpower to force his erection away. He closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of students leaving, counting down until he was alone.

He was supposed to be better than this.

“Professor?” Anakin sounded tentative, and far too close. Obi-Wan’s eyes opened and he fought a startle reflex. The room was emptying quickly, and Anakin was standing directly in front of his desk, looking nervous. “I was wondering if I missed any announcements at the beginning of class?”

“Yes, you did, as usual,” Obi-Wan sighed, and Anakin’s blush deepened. “Nothing important this time, Anakin. Office hours are cancelled this week.”

“Oh,” Anakin looked unreasonably upset. “Why, Professor?” 

Obi-Wan’s cock ached at his possessive, needy tone. He shot Anakin a look that implied that the reason was none of his business. “I had a scheduling conflict, Anakin. You can email me questions, you know that.”

“I know,” Anakin shrugged, still looking disappointed. He ran his hand through his hair again, breaking up the sweat clinging to his curls and making an even bigger mess. Obi-Wan looked away, breathing steadily, and kept face blank. Anakin dropped the hand. “Thanks, Professor.”

“Of course, Anakin.” Obi-Wan began packing up his bag. The room was empty except for him and Anakin, which was a very bad thing. Obi-Wan needed to escape back to his office, regain his equilibrium, drink some fucking Scotch. “Anything else?

“No, Professor,” Anakin shook his head. “See you… see you on Thursday then?”

Obi-Wan nodded once and shaped his words into a dismissal. “See you in class, Anakin.”

Anakin nodded and turned to leave. Obi-Wan tried as hard as possible not to watch him go—but it was impossible to resist looking, he almost couldn’t help it. Anakin’s back was turned, he couldn’t see, he wouldn’t know, nobody would know, he could look…

Obi-Wan’s eyes immediately jumped back to where they’d wanted to linger before, sliding from the back of Anakin’s knees up the soft, smooth skin of thighs. Anakin’s shorts pulled and swished, teasingly exposing swaths of golden skin higher up than Obi-Wan had ever seen before, and it was captivating.

His gaze moved upward again, finally coming to rest on the curve of Anakin’s ass, so visible in his soft shorts as he walked. Obi-Wan couldn’t take his eyes away, despite his better judgement. His cock ached, he was so hard—it was too easy to imagine bending Anakin over, spreading his thighs with his hands, stroking his skin, trailing his touch higher and higher as Anakin squirmed and whined.

He desperately wanted to use his fingers to test the firmness of Anakin’s ass. He wanted to grab and squeeze his cheeks, spreading him until he could finally see his hole, tease it, touch it, lick it, fill it with his cock—it was probably tight and pink and perfect just like everything else about Anakin. He’d be so tight, so hot; he’d moan so prettily, take Obi-Wan's thick cock so well as he fucked into him. 

Anakin took his final steps out of the room, and Obi-Wan was alone. 

Without thinking it through, without considering what he was doing, one of his hands drifted down and pressed on his cock, palming the head and giving himself the pressure to try to get rid of the ache. His hand instinctively rubbed down harder and pleasure burst through his system like bubbles in champagne.

Obi-Wan gasped in horror, and snatched his hand away. Fuck.

He threw the rest of his belongings in his bag, and stood up. He felt that there was a wet spot in the front of his trousers where precome had leaked from his cock. Fuck. 

He knew the stubbornly persistent erection in his pants was not subtle. It felt like a curse at the moment, not a blessing, that his cock was big. Fuck.

Obi-Wan knew that at this point, he had no choice but to fix the problem. He took a deep breath, and hurried out of the classroom. The halls were crowded, and he held his bag in front of him as if looking through it for something, face pensive and removed. It was only a matter of meters to the nearest bathroom. He stepped in, heading to the thankfully vacant stall farthest from the door, and locked the door. 

He took a deep, shuddery breath and hung his bag on the hook. The pressure was truly overwhelming, he needed to touch himself. He undid his belt and opened his trousers with shaking hands. Was he really about to do this? Was this really who he was, what he’d become?

His hand closed around his cock and his eyes fluttered shut, his mind flooded with images of Anakin. Yes, this is who he is now. Yes... 

He quietly spat in his hand and began to jerk his cock quickly, gathering the precome leaking from the tip and using it as lube too. He was so hard, he began roughly pulling and twisting. Yes...

It felt so good to finally, finally be touching himself, to let himself do this—that class had been torture and the whole year, two years, had been torture. He squeezed the head tight, imagaining sinking it slowly inside, so slowly that Anakin would whine and beg for more.

"Professor?” Anakin’s needy voice echoed in his mind, “Professor is this right? Professor?” and Obi-Wan’s wrist moved faster, images flashing, Anakin's hair in the sunlight, Anakin's bare arms, Anakin reading Plato—Anakin’s smile, Anakin’s pout, Anakin’s eyes, Anakin’s skin, Anakin…

Obi-Wan was impossibly close already, so painfully hard. There was tension building, building, building, in his stomach. He was so close. He imagined gripping Anakin’s messy curls, slipping his cock between his pink lips, fucking his mouth. He could see it so clearly— Anakin looking up at him, so eager, so curious, so desperate to please.

His mind flashed to the golden skin of Anakin’s thighs, imagined the way his legs met his ass, how he would look bent over his desk, legs spread, Obi-Wan’s cock pounding into him from behind. He would take it so well, be so perfect, his Anakin… 

Obi-Wan’s wrist twisted a final time, and he came hard into his hand. His jaw was clenched, and he swallowed a groan. His come spilled in an extended, excruciatingly pleasurable release. His Anakin…

Obi-Wan quickly cleaned off his hands with toilet paper and flushed the evidence. His heart was still pounding, his breathing unsteady. He rested his head against the cool tile of the wall, trying to collect himself enough to walk back up to the mezzanine. He’d just come thinking about a student.

Fuck.

Four months after graduation...

Anakin was running late, as usual, and he struggled to open the door to the Classics and Anthropology building with hot Starbucks in both hands. He huffed a loud sigh of relief when the door suddenly opened from the inside. He absently murmured his thanks, carefully unstacking the teetering cups.

“No problem,” Obi-Wan said wryly. 

Anakin’s head snapped up, and he grinned. Finally. Obi-Wan had gone out of town all weekend for a conference, and had been flown back in the morning before his Monday afternoon class. That class was finally over, and Obi-Wan was finally free. Anakin hadn’t gotten a chance to see him since Friday.

Obi-Wan shook his head and stood back, giving Anakin room to enter the building. He kissed Anakin on the cheek and took his drink. “Thank you, dear one.” He teased with a fond smile, “I had rather thought you’d forgotten your promise to bring me coffee. I was coming to find you in the lab.”

“I didn’t forget!” Anakin said quickly, holding up his cup and wiggling it. He looked around at the empty hallway, and pressed a quick kiss against Obi-Wan’s lips. “Of course I didn’t forget! I missed you.” He felt his face begin to burn, despite it probably being normal to miss your husband. 

He looked Obi-Wan over from his neat clothes to his tidy hair, and then refocused on the dark circles beneath his eyes. Obi-Wan looked so good, but so tired. Anakin felt an overwhelming rush of fondness and concern. “How was your flight?”

“Well…” Obi-Wan sighed. “You know I hate flying.” He started walking toward his office, and took a long sip. “I got back around noon, luckily there were no delays.” He hummed happily, taking another drink. “Thank you for the coffee, Anankē. It’s been a long day.”

“Of course, Professor,” Anakin smiled widely, looking around the familiar halls. He felt almost smug walking beside Obi-Wan, thinking back to all those days where he’d not even dared to dream of anything like this. “How was the conference?”

“My paper was generally well received,” Obi-Wan shrugged. “Dr. Maul wasn’t particularly happy with it, but he never is.”

“No!” Anakin laughed, “He really never is. I’m sorry that he was there.” He opened the door to the mezzanine and let Obi-Wan go through first. “Did he monologue through your question period again?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan sighed. He swiped a hand through his empty mailbox just to confirm its emptiness and turned back to give Anakin an annoyed look. “He did.”

Anakin rolled his eyes, and leaned back against Obi-Wan’s closed office door. He winced and glared at a pushpin holding a flyer, and shifted two inches to the left. “He needs to give it up. It’s just embarrassing for him at this point.”

“Academics hold grudges better than any other people I’ve ever met,” Obi-Wan shrugged. “The less something actually matters, the more fervent and cruel people can become about it.”

Anakin felt indignant on Obi-Wan’s behalf. “Still, it’s been what… a decade? More?” Obi-Wan made a muted noise of affirmation to the latter, and Anakin scoffed, “That’s absurd.”

“I doubt he’ll ever truly be able to let it go,” Obi-Wan grumbled, coming to stand so close.

Anakin felt wonderfully crowded against the door, and he scanned the hallway for observers before tipping his head forward, meeting Obi-Wan’s lips. Good thing it was nearly the end of the day, and everyone seemed to have gone home. Anakin pulled Obi-Wan close and poured his feelings into the kiss—he’d been waiting for days to see him, it was so overwhelming to finally be near him again. The sweet pressure of Obi-Wan’s lips moving against his own felt like coming home. He’d been going insane. He’d been missing half of himself. 

Their elopement was still so recent that Anakin was still tan from the trip, and he had missed Obi-Wan every second of every day he’d been gone at the stupid conference like a physical ache in his chest. It just wasn’t fair to go from being on a honeymoon like that to being alone and missing someone. 

He needed Obi-Wan, and kissing Obi-Wan he appreciated that maybe Obi-Wan needed him too. 

Obi-Wan was kissing him back with focused intent, cupping his face gently and holding him close. His beard had a familiar, comforting scratch and Anakin broke the kiss, rubbing his cheek against it affectionately. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, trying to recapture and fix Obi-Wan’s scent in his mind. 

He was so distracted that he missed Obi-Wan’s hand moving to the doorknob, and startled badly when Obi-Wan suddenly pushed open the door behind him. Anakin scowled and Obi-Wan smiled crookedly, pushing him backwards into the office with a gentle shove with one hand on the chest. 

Anakin stumbled backwards, tripping slightly over his feet, and then laughed. Obi-Wan gave him a wide smile and pursued him inside, closing the door behind himself with a firm click. 

The office was silent except for their breathing, and Anakin set his coffee down on the desk behind him, dropping his bag carelessly on the floor. 

“I did miss you too, Anankē.” Obi-Wan stepped close, looking him up and down. “Very much.” 

Anakin beamed at him, feeling a swell of gratitude and adoration that probably shone from his face. He’d never been very good at hiding his emotions, apparently. That’s what Obi-Wan had said in Venice, on the gondola to their hotel. He stole the coffee cup out of Obi-Wan’s hand, setting it next to his own on the desk, and turned back, opening his mouth to reply—and was cut off by a kiss.

Obi-Wan pulled him close, kissing him deeply, sucking Anakin’s bottom lip into his mouth. Anakin moaned, feeling a swell of relief. He wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan's neck and kissed him back. Obi-Wan stroked up and down his spine, and Anakin felt lightheaded and dizzy, swaying closer. His cock was getting hard, more quickly than he’d thought possible. He’d missed this so much. 

He felt Obi-Wan’s hands slide down slowly as they kissed, smoothing deliberately over the curve of his ass as if mapping and memorizing the shape. Anakin whined and his hips pressed forward as Obi-Wan’s fingers dug in, grabbing his ass and pulling him closer. Anakin felt his cock press against the hardness in Obi-Wan’s trousers and whimpered. Obi-Wan broke the kiss and pulled his head back. His pupils were blown, his lips swollen, his cheeks pink. He was so handsome. 

Anakin took a deep, shuddery breath. “I love you, Obi-Wan.”

“And I you, paidika,” Obi-Wan murmured, his eyes moving over Anakin’s shoulder towards his desk. “Come on.”

Anakin tipped his head to the side in confusion and Obi-Wan smiled at him—a warm, knowing smile that made Anakin squeeze his arms tighter, clinging to Obi-Wan’s neck. Obi-Wan turned them and began walking them backward until he sat back heavily in his office chair, pulling Anakin onto his lap.  

Anakin hummed his approval and adjusted how he was sitting until he was comfortably straddling Obi-Wan. How many times had Anakin sat in office hours, watching Obi-Wan talk, imagining crawling into his lap exactly like this? A million, million times.

He squirmed again and Obi-Wan hissed as his movements rubbed against his cock. Anakin smirked with satisfaction at the noise. He rolled his hips again and Obi-Wan gripped his ass tightly, keeping him still. “Patience, Anankē. We’re in no hurry.”

“I am,” Anakin grumbled, unable to keep a smile off his face. He pressed his forehead against Obi-Wan’s, moving his hips in a slow circle despite Obi-Wan’s grip. “I’m in a hurry.”

“Patience, paidika mine.” Obi-Wan repeated, and kissed him before he could argue back. He licked into Anakin’s mouth, and their tongues touched. He tasted like coffee, chocolate, and Obi-Wan. Anakin’s cock throbbed, and he rocked his hips, it felt so good. Obi-Wan gripped his hips tighter for a moment before letting go. “Do try to stay still, Anakin, and I promise I’ll fuck you.”

Anakin hummed with a mix of approval and frustration into the kiss, ceasing his movements. Obi-Wan’s hand slid under his shirt and stroked the skin of his back. He scratched slightly, their tongues tangling together. Anakin’s hips twitched forward, and he moaned, “Sorry.” It felt so good. He rolled his hips one more time for good measure, enjoying the pressure against his aching cock. “Sorry.”

Obi-Wan huffed a laugh. He slid both his hands under Anakin’s black t-shirt, pulling it off over his head and dropping it on the floor. He took a moment to run his eyes over Anakin’s naked chest, and Anakin blushed at his observation. Obi-Wan leaned forward and began to kiss the exposed skin, licking a nipple and making Anakin whine and squirm. Obi-Wan hummed happily and began sucking purple marks in his favorite place—marking the hollow between Anakin’s collarbones, moving slowly down the indentation between his pectorals. His hands slid down from Anakin's back into his pants, fingers gripping the bare skin of Anakin’s ass. 

Anakin let his head fall back, gasping. It felt so good. 

A noise surprised him, and he looked at Obi-Wan’s computer. He tapped on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, his voice breathy. “Professor, your Skype is going off.”

“What?” Obi-Wan tilted his head back, his gaze hazy with desire. 

Anakin smiled slowly, rocking his hips. “Can’t you hear it, erastēs?”

“I…” Obi-Wan blinked, shaking his head slightly and glaring at his computer. “No, I didn’t hear it.” He leaned over and checked who was calling. “Fuck.”

Anakin squirmed, and turned to look too. “What does Windu want?”

Obi-Wan just shook his head again, looking between topless Anakin and the Skype call. He abruptly pushed Anakin back, and said “Down.”

“Down?” Anakin frowned.

“Out of frame, please,” Obi-Wan said, trying to compose himself. “I need to take this.”

“Fine,” Anakin sighed, moving off Obi-Wan’s lap and sliding down to the floor, dipping his head out of frame and hiding under the desk.

Obi-Wan answered the call, “Hello, Mace.”

Anakin wrinkled his nose when the department chair’s face appeared on the screen. He readjusted his position until he was kneeling between Obi-Wan’s legs, tucked and hidden away under the desk. His cock ached, and he resented the interruption very much.

“Obi-Wan, have you reviewed the letters of recommendation on Veld yet?” Windu’s voice was more than slightly tense. “We need to make a decision by the end of the day, and we’re waiting on your approval.”

“Yes, I read them,” Obi-Wan nodded. His voice was smooth, his face neutral. Anakin marveled at Obi-Wan’s ability to hide the fact that his cock was so hard that there was precome leaking into his trousers. “Dr. Ry-Gaul speaks very highly of him.” 

Anakin leaned forward and licked the wet spot, and Obi-Wan’s eye twitched. He put his hand on Anakin’s forehead and pushed him back and down hard. His face betrayed no other emotion, the movement of his hand subtle and invisible to the camera.

Anakin sighed, and rested his head obediently against Obi-Wan’s knee. His eyes fell on Obi-Wan’s slightly tan, bare ankle and he smiled. Obi-Wan was wearing his new Italian leather loafers. They’d gotten them in Milan, Obi-Wan had let him help choose. He smiled with satisfaction, unable to resist stroking the soft leather fondly at the memory. 

Windu’s voice was loud in the quiet office. “I’m leaning towards admitting him, we need more people cross-trained in archaeology. I know that Vos expressed interest in working with him on the dig in Turkey next summer.”

Obi-Wan nodded, his voice almost normal, “Well, that seems like a compelling case for admittance.” Anakin slid his hand up from the leather to circle his hand around Obi-Wan’s ankle, cuping and stroking his leg several times as if he were jerking Obi-Wan’s cock. He smirked when the leg twitched, and he began trailing his fingers higher, snuggling his cheek against Obi-Wan’s inner thigh. 

“You’re signing off?” Windu asked, his tone a warning. “It means we’re passing on Darra.” 

Anakin raised an eyebrow—he hadn’t known she’d applied. He stroked the fabric on Obi-Wan’s calf, trailing his fingers higher and stroking behind Obi-Wan’s knee to the back of his thigh. Obi-Wan’s leg twitched and Anakin smiled, stroking again with more pressure, and slid his hand around to rest on Obi-Wan’s inner thigh, moving steadily upwards. 

“She, ah…” Obi-Wan trailed off and flicked his eyes down for a moment in a fierce flash of warning as Anakin’s hand approached his cock. Anakin gave him an innocent look and halted his hand’s progress, and Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “She has a few good leads at other universities. I passed her thesis on to Dr. Tachi, and she has plenty of pull in her department. It would be better for her chances at a career to leave her alma mater, I think.” His voice was level, but Anakin knew him well enough to hear the buried intent. 

Obi-Wan shifted slightly in his seat, and Anakin used the opportunity to continue his mission of sliding both his mouth and his hand closer to Obi-Wan’s cock. He was so aroused that at that point, his options were either touch Obi-Wan, or touch himself, and he knew by now that Obi-Wan liked him to wait until given permission, and Anakin liked very much waiting for permission. 

Besides, he wanted to touch Obi-Wan. More than wanted—he needed to touch him. He’d spent enough time stroking his own cock over the weekend when they were apart. He wanted to feel Obi-Wan’s cock in his hand, in his mouth, in his ass.

His hand reached the outline of Obi-Wan’s erection and he ran his fingers along the length, appreciating how big it was. He moved his head forward tentatively, looking up with a question in his eyes, giving Obi-Wan another chance to push him back.

Obi-Wan hissed a breath, but didn’t stop Anakin as he kissed the wet place again. Anakin smiled against his cock, his hands moving to quietly unfasten Obi-Wan’s belt. Obi-Wan did not stop him, his cheeks flushed. He wanted it too. He was looking seriously into the camera, for all intents and purposes entirely focused on the conversation.

Windu nodded gravely, “I agree. Are we settled on Veld?”

“Yes, contact him.” Obi-Wan said, his tone flat. Anakin slid a hand inside his pants, and Obi-Wan clenched his jaw as Anakin finally got his fingers on the bare skin of his hard cock. Obi-Wan ran a hand down his face, scratching his beard thoughtfully. “I think he’ll be a good addition to the department.”

“Very well,” Windu said with a sigh, apparently quite relieved at a decision being made. “Thank you, Obi-Wan. How was your trip?” 

Anakin unbuttoned and unzipped Obi-Wan’s trousers, opening them wide enough to free his cock. He grinned with satisfaction when it jutted out, flushed and thick. He loved Obi-Wan’s cock.

“It was good, there were some very good papers.” Obi-Wan was becoming less able to hide the need in his voice. He swallowed and said in a dark tone, “Dr. Maul was there, which was a pleasure as usual.”

Windu sounded almost amused. “Did anyone else get to ask a question?”

Anakin huffed a breath, muffling a laugh at how everyone knew about Dr. Maul’s obsession with critiquing Obi-Wan’s work. Obi-Wan’s cock twitched when he breathed on it, and he shot Obi-Wan a smirk. He blew air again intentionally against the head of Obi-Wan’s cock, keeping his mouth slightly back. 

“No,” Obi-Wan grimaced. He slid a hand into Anakin’s hair, scratching his scalp and holding him in place. Anakin’s cock throbbed at the slight tug, and his eyes slid shut at being held. “They certainly did not. The reaction was otherwise good, though, and it was worth the trip.”

Windu sounded satisfied. “Good. I’m going to call Veld. Thank you again for your help, Obi-Wan.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan nodded, and the call disconnected. 

There was a moment of silence.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s voice was quiet, and dangerous. Anakin licked the head of his cock, and Obi-Wan hissed, gripping Anakin’s hair tightly for a moment before relaxing his hand. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

“Really?” Anakin murmured, letting his lips drag down the length of Obi-Wan’s cock. “I don’t see why not.” He licked slowly back up, his hand coming up to begin stroking gently. Obi-Wan’s hips twitched, and Anakin kissed the head of his cock, pulling back. “You’re good at hiding your feelings, erastēs.”

Obi-Wan made a negative noise and used his grip on Anakin’s hair to pull his head directly in front of his cock, pressing the tip firmly against Anakin’s lips. He moved his hips slightly and smeared his precome across Anakin’s pouting bottom lip with a satisfied expression. “That’s not a compliment I’m particularly happy to receive, paidika.”

Anakin looked up with wide eyes, and quickly sucked saliva into his mouth. He relaxed his jaw and stuck out his tongue, opening wide to show that his mouth was wet and ready for Obi-Wan’s cock. Obi-Wan gave him a look of approval, and then tugged gently on his hair again, pulling him close at the same time he pushed his cock deep inside his mouth, touching his throat. 

Anakin moaned, and Obi-Wan fucked further in, almost making him gag. Anakin’s cock throbbed, and his eyes fluttered closed. Obi-Wan sounded thoughtful and intent. “That was awfully naughty of you, Anakin. You were very bad just now, trying to distract me like that in front of the department chair.”

Anakin blinked up at him, eyes wide, mouth full of cock. He hummed apologetically, waiting for Obi-Wan to decide what his punishment would be. He couldn’t wait, ‘punishments’ were the best. He’d missed it so much the last few days, he needed it, craved it. 

Obi-Wan smiled at him, reading his thoughts from his face. “You do look perfect like this, love, taking my cock in your mouth so well.” He let go of Anakin’s hair, letting him move freely. Anakin took the opportunity to move back and take a deep breath before beginning to bob his head in rhythm with the strokes of his hand, lips and tongue working to pleasure Obi-Wan’s cock.

Obi-Wan’s hands had drifted together, and he absently spun the new ring on his left hand, watching Anakin suck his cock with satisfaction. “Very good, Anankē.”

Anakin pulled back to breathe, and Obi-Wan grabbed his chin before he could get his mouth back on Obi-Wan’s cock. He tilted Anakin’s face until they made eye contact. Anakin whined, his cock throbbing, at the look on Obi-Wan’s face. “I’ve decided you should be spanked, sweetheart. You’ve earned it, being very naughty while I was working.”

Anakin whined and nodded, “Please, Professor, I’m sorry, I just needed…”

“I know, Anankē.” Obi-Wan said reassuringly. “I’ll give you what you need.” He pushed his chair back, beckoning Anakin to come out from under the desk. 

Anakin clambered out awkwardly, almost too aroused to move properly. He stood before Obi-Wan, eyes drawn back on his exposed, hard cock. “Please, Professor.” 

Obi-Wan stood up abruptly, and placed his hands on Anakin’s hips, spinning him around to face his desk. Anakin exhaled hard, and felt Obi-Wan press a hand on his back, bending him forward. He complied easily, letting Obi-Wan arrange him how he wanted him. 

He pressed his hips forward seeking relief for his aching cock, and Obi-Wan swatted him lightly on the ass. “Not yet, dear one.”

“Please, Obi-Wan,” Anakin whined, turning his head back, seeking contact. “Can I come first?”

“What do you think?” Obi-Wan laughed. He pulled Anakin’s pants down roughly, sighing with satisfaction at the sight of Anakin’s bare ass. He stroked the skin almost reverently. “How many do you want, my love?”

Anakin hummed, trying to balance between his need for Obi-Wan to spank him and fuck him. “Five, please, just five.”

“Very well,” Obi-Wan said. Anakin trembled, the anticipation was overwhelmingly good. He gasped and looked back over his shoulder sharply when he felt the tip of Obi-Wan’s cock slide between his legs. 

“Are you?” Anakin asked, mouth feeling wet. He swallowed and tried again, hopefully. “Will you fuck me first? Please?” His voice was quickly turning into a whine. “Will you, please, Obi-Wan? I want you to, Professor, please?”

Obi-Wan barked a laugh, and gave him a hard spank. Anakin gasped, and Obi-Wan leaned forward, rubbing his cock between Anakin’s legs again, his mouth next to Anakin’s ear. “This is just for me, sweetheart. You should see what you look like, bent over like this, begging for my cock.” He pulled back, and spanked Anakin sharply.

Anakin moaned, and Obi-Wan smoothed his hand on Anakin’s ass, stroking where he’d spanked, his voice almost meditative. “I thought about this a million times, paidika. I thought about fucking you just like this—bending you over my desk, taking you from behind, sinking into your tight little ass. You look so good to me like this, darling.” He swatted him hard again. 

Anakin’s hips jerked forward and he whined. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Anankē,” Obi-Wan groaned, rubbing his cock on Anakin’s entrance. He pulled back and spanked him hard. Anakin whined, and then swayed his back, tilting his hips, trying to induce Obi-Wan to fuck him. Obi-Wan laughed. “That’s only four, sweetheart.”

“I know,” Anakin moaned, spreading his legs slightly farther apart and rocking his hips back to better expose himself. “Please, Obi-Wan.”

He whined again when he felt Obi-Wan bend over him, his lips pressing a gentle kiss against the nape of his neck, cock teasing between his legs. “At least you ask politely, Anankē.”  

Obi-Wan pulled back, and Anakin heard the rattle of a desk drawer being opened and the pop of the top of a bottle. He looked over his shoulder. “Are you keeping lube here now?”

Obi-Wan met his eyes, smug. “Yes, I think it’s a good idea.” His slick fingers began to circle Anakin’s ass. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Anakin gasped. "Fantastic idea." Obi-Wan slid two fingers inside him, and he whined. “Fuck me, please, please, fuck me.”

Obi-Wan laughed, his fingers moving in and out of Anakin slowly, opening him up. He spanked Anakin hard, and said, “There’s your five, paidika. Did you like that?”

“Yes,” Anakin nodded, his cheek pressing against the desk, all of his focus on the way Obi-Wan’s fingers were drawing closer and closer to stroking his prostate. He spoke rapidly and breathily. “Thank you, I liked it, it was nice. Will you fuck me? Fuck me now?”

“So impatient,” Obi-Wan sighed, “But I suppose I can do that for you, Anankē.”

“Thank you,” Anakin exhaled with relief, tilting his hips in invitation again. He moaned when Obi-Wan added another finger, stretching him out, making him relax. He let Obi-Wan work him open for what felt like forever before he whined, “I’m ready, Professor, I know I am, please.”

“You are,” Obi-Wan agreed, voice rough. He rolled on a condom, and dispensed more lube onto his fingers—rubbing his cock, spreading it and preparing himself too. He brought the tip back to Anakin’s entrance, and instead of sliding it away teasingly, he began to press his cock inside very slowly. 

Anakin squirmed and whined. Too slowly. He needed it. He needed it now. “Please, please, more, Obi-Wan, more now.”

“Patience,” Obi-Wan said, voice full of satisfaction. He stroked Anakin’s back, getting him to lay flat, sliding his cock in and out slowly. “You take it so well, love.”

“Thank you,” Anakin whined. “I need it, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Obi-Wan murmured, grabbing Anakin’s hips. He held him steady, and then thrust his hips forward hard, sinking his cock in as far as he could, filling him up. Anakin moaned loudly, and Obi-Wan began to fuck him rapidly, their hips slapping together. “I couldn’t think about anything else."

“Me neither,” Anakin said. “Me neither.”

“Give me your hand,” Obi-Wan said suddenly, and Anakin frowned, awkwardly raising his hand, unsure of what was happening. “Very good, darling, thank you.” Obi-Wan leaned down and spat into his hand. “You may touch yourself, Anakin.”

“Thank you!” Anakin groaned. He closed his fist, capturing the saliva and moved his hand to his cock, stroking himself rapidly. Obi-Wan continued to fuck him hard, and he was already  so close. “Can I come, please?”

“Of course, darling, come whenever you can, I want you to come.” Obi-Wan said, stroking his back again and fucking him so hard his whole body jolted. Anakin took it easily, and began using the rhythm to jerk himself off. 

It felt so good, and he was so close, his stomach felt so tight, it felt nearly overwhelming. He was so close. “Thank you, Professor,” he whined. “I love you.”

“I love you too, my Anankē.” Obi-Wan murmured, voice rich with approval. “Come on my cock, Anakin, I want to feel you come, so hot and tight, you’re so perfect, please, darling, come—”

Anakin groaned and went limp, his cock spilling in an overwhelming rush of pleasure. He tried to catch the come with his hand, lost in the consuming pulse of the orgasm, pleasure cascading through his body. Obi-Wan’s cock fucked him through it, and Anakin felt so perfect. He moaned, “Obi-Wan, come too, please, Professor. I love you so much, Obi-Wan…”

Obi-Wan made a noise low in his throat, holding Anakin’s hips tight as he began to lose his rhythm, fucking him with sharp thrusts. Anakin rolled his hips back, meeting his thrusts as best he could, and Obi-Wan groaned, stroking Anakin’s back. “So perfect…”

Anakin turned his head to try to catch eye contact, and smiled widely, letting his feelings show on his face. Obi-Wan looked at him so fondly, mirroring his smile back until Anakin watched the orgasm overtake him, one last final thrust and a groan, his face going tight as he spilled his come inside Anakin. 

They were still together for a long moment, breathing and looking into each other’s eyes. Anakin broke eye contact, looking around the small office, so crowded with familiar books. He’d spent so many hours here, wanting what he now had. It was perfect. 

Obi-Wan pulled out, and began cleaning them both up with wet wipes that materialized from the same drawer as the lube and condom. Anakin relaxed. He was used to being cleaned, and enjoyed it very much. It was so intimate, and Obi-Wan was so careful, so gentle, taking care of him. It was almost better than the sex. Almost.

“How was teaching your first session?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice returning to normal. He wiped the come and saliva from Anakin’s hands.

Anakin sighed, letting him move him however he wanted. “It was good, I liked it well enough. Lower level computer science isn’t rocket science. It’s easy to explain.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan nodded in approval. He sat Anakin up, and began passing him clothes. “I’m very glad you’re comfortable with it.”

Anakin yawned, pulling his t-shirt over his head. “Can we go home? Can we order pizza?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, kissing him on the forehead. “Yes, we can do both those things.”

One year and seven months before graduation...

Anakin was dreaming about Professor Kenobi again. 

He wasn’t aware it was a dream, of course. It felt so real and so perfect in the moment. He couldn’t see Obi-Wan, but he knew he was there behind him, taking off his clothes. Anakin could hear the soft sounds of fabric being folded and set aside as he pressed his face into the soft, white sheets and tried to breathe. 

He was so aware of his naked body—the flushed heat of his skin and the cool air of the room. His back was swayed, his hips pushed back, and his legs spread open wide. He could feel Obi-Wan’s eyes on him, somehow knew he was looking, and Anakin trembled with anticipation. 

He sucked in a gasp when he felt the lightest brush of fingertips down his spine, trailing lower and lower and coming closer to where Anakin wanted them most. He knew they were Obi-Wan’s fingers—the long, thick fingers that he’d spent so many hours observing as they spun his heavy fountain pen or held his mug of tea. 

Obi-Wan’s fingers finally dipped between Anakin’s spread legs, and Anakin gasped again, louder this time. Obi-Wan stroked all of the sensitive skin around Anakin’s exposed ass but teasingly avoided touching his actual entrance. Anakin whined, rolling his hips back and trying to get the fingers to return and press inside. He wanted Obi-Wan to fuck him with his fingers more than anything, and he huffed with frustration when the fingers disappeared. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan’s calm, disappointed voice washed over him. Anakin made an apologetic noise, his cock throbbing. Obi-Wan stroked down further, tugging gently on Anakin’s balls. “Hold still, please.”

Anakin began to turn his head, filled with desire to see Obi-Wan’s face, study his eyes. He stilled when he felt Obi-Wan’s fingers slide into his hair, the palm cupping the back of his head. The fingers abruptly tightened into a fist, holding Anakin in place and pressing his face down into the mattress.  

“Head stays down,” Obi-Wan said firmly. “Remember my instructions?”

Anakin swallowed and nodded as much as he could, causing pleasant tugs on his hair. He pushed his face down into the sheets, and his vision remained obscured. His dreams mostly left Obi-Wan’s appearance frustratingly vague or absent entirely, and focused instead on his voice.

When Anakin made no further attempts to turn, Obi-Wan made a small, thoughtful hum of satisfaction and removed his hand. It was the same sound as when Anakin asked a particularly good question in class—a rare and precious noise that always sent a thrill down Anakin’s spine. Anakin exhaled hard as he felt precome begin to gather at the tip of his cock. 

He felt dizzy with arousal, so desperate for Obi-Wan to put his hands back on his body. He took shallow, rapid breaths, and slid his palms along the soft sheets. He wanted to see and touch, but Obi-Wan wanted him to hold still. It was so frustrating, and his eyes began to burn with tears, his throat thick. 

Obi-Wan’s hands suddenly grasped the narrowest point of Anakin’s waist and slid back, his long fingers curling around Anakin’s hipbones and digging in, gripping tight and tilting down. Obi-Wan adjusted the angle of Anakin’s hips, exposing his ass still further. He made the satisfied noise again, and moved one of his hands back down to stroke Anakin‘s cock.

Anakin’s eyes were still burning, and they almost itched. It was something far beyond the mild discomfort of tears, and was beginning to wake him up. He felt the gentlest touch on his ass, one last contact from dream Obi-Wan before the entire scene faded away, growing more and more distant, disappearing slowly and then all at once. 

Anakin woke up, and Obi-Wan was gone. 

Anakin huffed with frustration and shifted, painfully aware that he was alone in his bed with an aching erection—though he thought bitterly, what else was new? The dream had been so good, felt so real, just like they always did. He dreamed about sex with Professor Kenobi too much for his sanity, probably, but it was never enough. He always woke up wanting more. At least this time he hadn’t come in his sleep, and saved himself waking up sticky and uncomfortable. 

Anakin tried to open his eyes and then groaned loudly—it felt like they were full of sand. He wasn’t supposed to sleep in his contacts, and hated when he did. He could feel the lenses sticking to his eyes and his eyelids, and it was incredibly unpleasant. At least the pain was solving the problem of his aching cock. 

He generally felt awful, and didn’t want to move. Why had he fallen asleep in contacts? As he tried to sit up, the night before came rushing back in a wave of very real nausea. Despite the pain, he opened his eyes again and fell out of bed in his hurry to get to his bathroom before he puked. 

He made it just in time. His stomach was empty except for bile—he hadn’t eaten much and had drunk a great deal, which was always a poor choice. Eventually he finished dry heaving, and he curled around the toilet, completely miserable. The cool tile of the floor felt so good, he couldn’t get up. This was the most hungover he’d possibly ever been. Why had he gotten so drunk? 

He shakily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and winced at the contact with inflamed skin. He’d drunkenly and sloppily made out with a man with a beard at the party, and his chin had been rubbed raw against the rough, scratchy hair. The beard burn felt hot and painful, and he needed to look and see the damage. He pulled himself up with effort and washed his hands, grimacing as he removed his dry contacts out of his eyes and put them into solution. The relief of some eyedrops was immense, and he took a deep, steadying breath. He was okay. He was awake. He was fine. 

He filled a cup with water and chugged it, feeling immensely dehydrated, and grimaced at the aftertaste of puke. He gargled some mouthwash and gently washed his face and patted it dry, jamming his glasses on to survey the damage. His painful chin wasn’t as neon pink as he’d worried it would be, but there was also an unexpected and very noticeable series of bruises down his neck. 

He glowered at his reflection. If anyone looked at him for more than a second, the purple hickeys and beard burn would be extremely obvious. The marks brought him no satisfaction, only irritation and embarrassment. The stranger had no claim on him, no right to mark his skin. If Obi-Wan had done it, it would be different, but he hadn’t and he wouldn’t, so it didn’t matter. 

Anakin felt a swell of dread at the idea of going in public with the marks. He stared at them, deliberating. Could he skip class today? No, he couldn’t. He had to go. He had a paper to turn in, and Professor Kenobi did not accept late submissions any more than he accepted digital ones—not without extremely good reason. Excessive drinking on the night before class was not a good reason. Halloween or not.

Anakin huffed in frustration and turned away from the mirror. There was nothing he could do about the marks now, except hope nobody cared or judged him much. He turned on the shower and waited for it to heat up to the right temperature, willing himself to feel better. 

The only person he truly didn’t want to see the marks was Professor Kenobi, but he reminded himself emphatically that it didn’t actually matter if he did see them. Anakin was sure that Obi-Wan wouldn’t look long enough to notice or care if he did. Obi-Wan never noticed anything about Anakin except for his work in class. He was so distant that Anakin figured that he probably didn’t even register in his mind as a real person—he was just another student, a face in the crowd.

For a moment Anakin allowed himself to imagine what it would be like if his feelings were returned, but the fantasy disappeared almost immediately. It was too impossible. He wanted to laugh at the idea of Obi-Wan doing the equivalent of what he’d done, kissing and touching someone random because of physical similarity to Anakin.

It was a painfully ludicrous, impossible image. Obi-Wan was so much better than that—he’d never be so pathetic and desperate. He was perfect; he could have whoever he wanted. Obi-Wan wouldn’t have to suffer a perpetual, aching crush like this. Besides, he was probably straight and probably taken, as Anakin’s long-standing internal dialogue reminded him. Probably straight and probably taken. 

Anakin stepped into the shower and began to quickly clean himself off. He was feeling better already with the contacts out, and the hot water was soothing. It felt good to rid himself of the invisible pollution of the night before. Kissing the stranger who looked vaguely like Obi-Wan had not helped him like he’d hoped. 

Anakin washed away the soap and frowned. He hadn’t planned on doing anything special for Halloween at all, but Padmé had invited him to houseparty at Bail Organa’s. Anakin knew that Bail was friends with Obi-Wan because he’d overheard Bail mention Obi-Wan once in a passing comment and had clung on to it. Any scrap of information about Professor Kenobi’s personal life was more precious than gold to Anakin. He knew he was so pathetic. He’d wanted to turn Padmé down, but the thought ‘He might be there’ had haunted him. Of course he couldn’t say no. 

Obi-Wan had not been at the party, of course. 

Anakin had wandered around Bail’s house for too long looking for him, growing steadily more drunk as it became clear he hadn’t come. It was about then that he’d been approached by a fairly attractive stranger with a beard, and Anakin blushed to remember what had happened after that, the frantic kissing and wandering hands.

The memories were embarrassing but his cock began to grow hard again anyway. Anakin knew he needed to get off at least once before he left for class, or else it would be a painful distraction. He pushed his face into the hot stream of water and allowed himself to think back through his dream, and enjoy how it felt to hear Obi-Wan’s firm voice ordering him around like that. 

His cock throbbed painfully when he allowed himself to pretend that it had been Obi-Wan at the party the night before—that Obi-Wan had approached him in the crowd, whispered in his ear, and kissed him sloppily, and that Obi-Wan had led Anakin to the bathroom, and pressed him against the sink. 

Anakin found the small bottle of lube he kept in the shower and slicked his hands. The water pounded against his back as he tipped his head forward to rest against the wall. One hand grasped his cock gently, and the other moved back to brush against his ass. The light contact with his entrance made him moan quietly, remembering the all-consuming sensations of the dream and what should have happened next, with Obi-Wan’s thick fingers pushing inside him—opening him up and preparing him to be fucked. 

Anakin’s mind flipped between the drunk kisses and wandering hands of the party, and the trembling anticipation of the dream. He imagined Obi-Wan pushing his fingers inside slowly, and mimicked the action with his own hand, making himself shudder with pleasure, his cock pulsing. He already felt so close.

Obi-Wan filled his thoughts, his accented voice echoing in his memory. Anakin slid in another slick finger, and exhaled hard, his other hand moving faster and faster on his cock. If it really had been Obi-Wan at the party, Anakin would have happily turned around and bent over the sink for him, letting him pull down his pants and fuck him hard, no matter the number of people outside. 

He was somehow sure that Obi-Wan would take control during sex, and that he wanted obedience. Anakin wanted to obey, wanted to please him—it seemed like Obi-Wan was never pleased. Anakin wanted him to be happy, wanted nothing more than to see him satisfied. His hand moved faster and faster, and his fingers pressed deeper. He tried to supply what it would sound like when Obi-Wan came, the look on his face. 

The idea of Obi-Wan’s blue eyes turned black with desire, flushed and breathing hard as he slid his cock into Anakin’s body, fucking him harder and harder as he drew close to coming was intoxicating. It was so incredible, so impossible. 

Anakin imagined Obi-Wan gasping his name as he came, and it pushed him immediately over the edge into his own orgasm. His muscles tightened and he groaned quietly as his hand filled with come. He felt more relaxed, and slightly chagrined, cleaning his hands and sighing. He was too hung up on the impossible. He needed to let Obi-Wan go and move on. 

Anakin dressed quickly and rushed downstairs.  He popped a pod in the Keurig and poured a probably excessive amount of creamer in his to-go mug, checking the time on his phone. He was running late, as usual. He slung his backpack over a shoulder and waved goodbye to his mom, who gave him an unimpressed look. Anakin wasn’t sure if it was because he was late, or because she’d noticed the hickeys. Probably both.

Luckily traffic was good, and there was a parking spot near the classics building. He jogged inside, biting his lip as he passed through hallways of closed doors, classes already in session. He wasn’t that late, it would be fine. 

He pushed the classroom door open gently and made direct eye contact with Professor Kenobi, whose small smile dropped at the sight of him, face going blank as the room fell quiet.

Anakin grimaced apologetically, moving near to his desk and digging through his backpack for his paper. Obi-Wan gave him a flat look as he dropped it off, but didn’t make any comments about his tardiness, which was both a relief and a disappointment. 

Anakin felt himself blushing and tried to ignore a few murmured comments of ‘He wears glasses? ’ and ‘Look at his hickeys...’ as he sat down and pulled out his books. He looked up, waiting for Obi-Wan to resume the class and discovered with a jolt that Obi-Wan was still looking at him with that flat, blank expression, which was unusual—usually he wouldn’t look at Anakin until it was his turn to translate. 

Anakin wondered if it was his glasses or his beard burn, or maybe both. He felt his cheeks get hot under the observation and he dropped his eyes to his desk. The room was oddly quiet for a moment before Obi-Wan coughed awkwardly and resumed class. Anakin pushed his glasses up his nose, and kept his eyes down. 

He wished that he could disappear. This was hell.

Quinlan Vos was replying to emails when he heard a series of rapid, forceful knocks on his office door. He looked at the time, and smirked. “Come in!”

The door swung open and shut quickly, with Obi-Wan entering the room with a stricken expression. “Vos, can I—”

“Sure,” Quinlan cut him off, reaching down and opening the bottom drawer of his desk and pulling out his stashed bottle of rum. “Rough class?”

Obi-Wan gave him an exasperated look, and snagged the bottle, sitting heavily in one of the visitor chairs across the desk. “It was fine.”

“Really?” Quinlan said skeptically, watching with a raised eyebrow as Obi-Wan unscrewed the lid of the bottle and took a drink. “I have glasses, you know.”

“You’re not the only one,” Obi-Wan grimaced. “This is really terrible stuff, Quin.”

“You’re welcome,” Quinlan rolled his eyes and pushed two clean mugs in Obi-Wan’s direction. “Pour me some too, I’ve been answering emails for an hour and want to die.” 

Obi-Wan obliged him, pouring a shot into each and setting the bottle down hard. Quinlan sipped delicately as he watched Obi-Wan throw back the contents of his glass and then refill it. When Obi-Wan seemed unwilling to continue the conversation by volunteering information, Quinlan prompted him. “What did you mean about glasses?”

Obi-Wan sighed, still looking unusually flustered. “Anakin came to class wearing glasses. I had no notion he normally wears contact lenses.” He took another drink, and grimaced at the aftertaste.

Quinlan tried to keep his grin contained, and failed. He hid it behind his mug as he took a sip, and managed to look vaguely sympathetic when he put the cup down. “I take it he looked good.”

“He did,” Obi-Wan said miserably. “But that’s not… not the primary issue.”

“It’s not?” Quinlan laughed, tapping his fingers on the desk. “It seems like it’s the primary issue in your life at the moment. Well, I suppose it’s a tie between Anakin Skywalker and Dr. Opress.”

Obi-Wan glared at him. “Don’t talk about Maul. I do not need to think about him. Not right now.”

“Fine,” Quinlan shrugged and took another sip. “So what’s the problem, Obi?”

“Don’t call me that either.” Obi-Wan gave him a sour look. “Honestly you are the most irritating person I know. If you didn’t have desk rum, I wouldn’t subject myself to this torture.”

Quinlan smiled impishly. “I’m pretty sure Luminara has something in her office. I suggest you go ask her, instead.”

“I will absolutely not do that,” Obi-Wan said with a sigh. He played with his glass for a moment, looking depressed. “He had beard burn, alright? Beard burn and hickeys all down his neck.”

“Oh ho ho!” Quinlan chortled. “He must have had a better Halloween than you. What were you doing, grading quizzes?”

Obi-Wan sighed again, and refilled his cup with another shot. Quinlan snagged the bottle out of his hand, and put it back in the drawer. Obi-Wan watched the rum disappear with a resigned expression. “I’m in hell, Quin. Do you think Mace would sponsor my sabbatical proposal? Or let me teach Latin next quarter?”

Quinlan considered this and then scoffed, “Mace is more likely to tell you to fake your own death for insurance money than give you funding for sabbatical, so good luck with that." He took a drink and set his cup aside. "Besides, you are aware he’s taking Latin too, right?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan almost pouted, absently straightening his tie. “But there are more sections of Latin than Greek. He might not be in my class for once.”

Quinlan gave him a skeptical look. “He absolutely would be in your class, Obi-Wan, you know that. The boy is completely infatuated.”

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, and took a final swing before setting his cup down hard. “I know.”

Quinlan hummed thoughtfully. “You could ask to lead the study abroad program. He would definitely go, but at least you’d be miserable in Rome instead of miserable here.”

Obi-Wan considered and then laughed without humor. “You know that would be so much worse, right? I can hardly handle one hour a day in a controlled environment. Late dinner with wine would be a disaster.”

“Well,” Quinlan shrugged apologetically. “I guess you just have a year and a half more to go then before he graduates and leaves.”

“A year and a half, and then he leaves.” Obi-Wan repeated miserably, and then stood up. “Thanks for the rum, Vos.”

“No problem,” Quinlan smiled widely. “Same time tomorrow?”

Obi-Wan huffed, like he always did, at the implication that this was a pattern, even though it clearly was. “Absolutely not. I’m getting another bottle for my own desk. I’m thinking Laphroaig this time.” He ran a hand over his face and turned to go.  

“Sounds good, see you then!” Quinlan called after him. “You owe me several drinks!”

Obi-Wan waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder and hustled out of the room. Quinlan laughed, and turned back to his computer. Somehow, a few too many emails to answer didn’t seem like the worst problem to have.

One year and seven months before graduation... 

Quinlan knocked on the frame of Obi-Wan’s open office door, but Obi-Wan didn’t look up. 

It was already getting dark outside, with the sun setting absurdly early this time of year. Brown maple leaves brushed up and tapped against Obi-Wan’s windows in the wind, and Quinlan watched one fall. It was going to be a chilly evening. Quinlan coughed loudly, announcing his presence again.

Obi-Wan frowned, gesturing vaguely and inviting Quinlan in without looking up from the paper he was scrawling over in red ink. Quinlan smirked, imagining the reaction of whatever poor student would be getting that back. He sat heavily in one of Obi-Wan’s visitor chairs, and crossed his legs at the ankle, getting comfortable. 

Obi-Wan wrote a grade, circled it, and looked up. “Yes?”

“Are you coming tonight?” Quinlan asked brightly. The answer was probably negative, but Quinlan hoped he might be able to convince him. Obi-Wan needed to get out of whatever slump he’d gotten into, and a party would help, Quinlan was sure of it. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed. “Am I coming where?” 

“Bail’s?” Quinlan sighed dramatically. “I know you were invited, Breha told me.” 

Obi-Wan huffed a laugh without humor and shook his head. “No, absolutely not. Please do pass on a hello to them from me, though.” His words were a dismissal, and he reached for the next paper in the stack.

“Why not?” Quinlan whined, refusing to just leave. He looked over Obi-Wan’s boring, normal teaching clothes. There wasn’t a hint of Halloween. He could have at least worn an orange tie or something, but no. Obi-Wan was the most boring human alive—the most boring person in the most boring slump in the world. 

Obi-Wan gave him an unimpressed look, as if he knew what Quinlan was thinking. “It’s Wednesday. We teach tomorrow.”

“I know, but it’s Halloween.”

“So?” Obi-Wan looked closer at the paper in front of him and frowned, marking a large X on the margin. “I don’t go out on weeknights.”

“You don’t go out at all, and you know it,” Quinlan grumbled. He sullenly adjusted his pirate hat. “It would be fun—you could dress up, have fun, get laid... don’t give me that look, you can’t just pine over a student for years. You need to get laid.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw clenched, and the glare he shot Quinlan was lethal. “I am not pining.”

Quinlan tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t hold back a knowing smile. “Oh really?”

“Really.” Obi-Wan said, voice grim. He looked down, and swallowed. “That wouldn’t be an appropriate thing for someone to do.” 

The muffled hurt in the expression on his face made Quinlan feel a tug of regret for teasing him. Obi-Wan wrote a question mark on the side of someone’s paper, and the dot was emphatic. 

Quinlan spoke with what he judged to be an unusual amount of gentleness. “You could go see him. You know he might be there.” 

“Who?” Obi-Wan sounded disinterested, and made a large red mark, writing a short note beneath.

“I’ve seen him at Bail’s before.” Quinlan shrugged casually. “I know you did too, that time. You know, weirdly enough, I think it was the last time you went to Bail and Breha’s. You can be at the same party as him, Obi-Wan, it’s not illegal. You can talk to him. You won’t get in trouble for talking to him.” 

“I can’t do that,” Obi-Wan said, voice quiet. The look he gave Quinlan was full of something like fear. “Not when he’s drunk, Quin. Definitely not when I am.”

Quinlan sighed and stood up. He slung his bag over his shoulder and tipped his hat, his voice still kind. “Fine, be boring.” 

Obi-Wan flashed him a real smile, and then looked back at his work. “I will.” 

Seven months before graduation... 

Padmé didn’t really care about an engraved gem that had been found at an archaeological dig in Turkey. She didn’t really care that the gem reflected some kind of important iconography, and how the implications of the gem’s design changed the importance of the site. Or something, she wasn’t really listening to the guest lecturer. 

She was there to see Professor Kenobi and Anakin in a room, together. It never happened anymore socially. They’d been at a party together once, years ago, and she’d hardly seen him since. She knew for a fact that Anakin hadn’t seen him, which was a very interesting fact to Padmé. 

Why was Obi-Wan avoiding Anakin? She wished she knew him better, but they were only casual acquaintances—he was a friend of a friend, and they’d exchanged a few words, but they were definitely not close enough for her to just ask him. So, she was tagging along with Anakin to campus to attend a lecture, and be in a room with both of them. 

Despite it being Halloween, it also happened to be the date of a Classics Department sponsored lecture by a visiting archaeology professor. Obi-Wan was hosting, and Anakin never skipped an event he knew Obi-Wan would be attending. 

Padmé and Anakin would be going out to the bars after this, along with half the other graduate students in the room. Other than the insanely niche lecture, the event was almost fun, and quite casual. Almost everyone had on some kind of small token of a costume. Almost everyone.

Padmé leaned over and whispered in Anakin’s ear, “Your Professor is looking very cute today.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Anakin whispered back, blushing. “He never does anything for Halloween, he’s better than that.”

She hummed her doubt about the merits of that statement, her eyes fixed on Obi-Wan, studying in his slacks and beige knit sweater. She whispered again, leaning close to Anakin’s side, “I love how he is in no way acknowledging that it’s Halloween. He could have at least worn an orange sweater.”

“Shush,” Anakin whispered emphatically, pushing her back gently with his shoulder. 

Padmé rubbed her arm in mock indignation. Normally, the push would be fine, but today, he was dressed like Romeo from the party scene of Romeo + Juliet, his shoulders were covered in silver knight’s armor. In Padmé’s opinion, he looked amazing—his shoulders impossibly broad—but it did make him a bit dangerous to bump into. 

Padmé adjusted her halo with a huff. Her hands in her hair, she looked down at the bottom of the auditorium, and noticed Obi-Wan looking at Anakin. She lowered her hands from her halo slowly, watching his face in fascination, until the strength of her stare made his eyes slide past Anakin and meet hers. 

His gaze was charged but inscrutable, and after she blinked, he looked back to the front, his attention fixed back on the guest speaker, like he’d never looked back at all. Padmé thought he looked almost angry.

Very interesting.

Five months after graduation... 

Bail opened the door to his apartment and grinned, showing off his vampire teeth. “Velcome, you two! One friend, two friend, two friends! Velcome!” Breha sighed loudly behind him, making him wince. He stood aside and waved an arm, inviting them in.

Obi-Wan smiled warmly and let Anakin enter first, following behind and closing the door quickly behind him. His voice was very warm, despite the chill. “Hello Bail, Breha. We’ve brought some wine and cheese.”

“Excellent news,” Breha raised a speculative eyebrow, and Bail thought she made a rather fearsome witch. “Come with me, and we’ll get it on a plate.” 

Obi-Wan nodded, shrugging off his coat, revealing his ordinary teaching clothes, with no obvious costume. He kissed Anakin’s cheek and handed him his coat before trailing after Breha.

Bail pointed Anakin down the hallway and accompanied him to the guest bedroom-turned-coat room. He looked Anakin up and down, taking in his black clothes, his black nose and whiskers that seemed to have been drawn on in sharpie, and his headband with two black, triangle ears poking out of his hair. “Who are you supposed to be?”

Anakin grinned at him, tossing their coats on the pile. “Have you read the Golden Compass?”

“No,” Bail led him back towards the living room, shaking his head. “I believe I saw the movie in theaters, but I think I fell asleep.”

Anakin shuddered dramatically. “We do not speak of the movie. Do you remember what dæmons are?”

Bail thought back, and looked at Anakin’s costume again. “Animals, maybe? It was a long time ago.”

“Animals! Yes,” Anakin replied happily. He scanned the room, and Bail knew he was looking for Obi-Wan.  “They’re animals but also like... souls, I guess. The animal represents the kind of person you are inside.”

“This way,” Bail said, taking pity on Anakin and leading him towards the kitchen. “So you’re Obi-Wan’s…”  

Anakin’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! He’s my person. I'm his dæmon.” 

“And so you’re a cat.” Bail laughed quietly, pushing open the kitchen door. He locked eyes with Breha and felt a surge of happiness. He remembered Anakin and checked to see that he was already standing very close to Obi-Wan, accepting a glass of wine. 

“You’re his dæmon?” Breha asked happily. “Obi-Wan didn’t explain. I assumed he just didn’t wear a costume, again.”

Anakin laughed. “You would be correct. But since it’s Golden Compass rules, he’s in character as some Oxford idiot, and I’m a cat, because he’s a cat inside.” 

Obi-Wan looked very satisfied, and handed Anakin a piece of cheese. 

Bail laughed. “I get it, I like it.”

Anakin grinned. “Thanks! Somebody refused to wear a costume, so I had to get creative!”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “I am wearing clothes, Anakin, what more do you want?”

Bail watched Anakin and Obi-Wan make meaningful eye contact and go silent for a moment, communicating through looks and sighs alone. He looked at his own wife, and she smiled, a whole sentence in her eyes. He nodded, and they left the two alone. 

Bail suspected that Anakin and Obi-Wan wouldn’t notice their exit for a while. The newlyweds didn’t have eyes for anyone else.

One year and five months after graduation... 

Ahsoka grinned, evading a swing of Anakin’s lightsaber and taunting him dramatically, “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Shut up, Padawan!” Anakin retorted, sliding slightly in his socks as he caught the answering strike of her lightsaber with a crack of plastic on plastic.

“You’re not my Master!” She pouted at him as they locked blades. “That’s not fair. I’m a Jedi Knight too.”

“Fine,” Anakin rolled his eyes at her. “I suppose you can be a Knight.” He bore down with his saber, trying to push her back. 

Ahsoka huffed with frustration, her shoulders shaking with the strain of resisting. She’d put on a lot of muscle since she made varsity field hockey two months ago, but Anakin was strong.

Despite her best efforts, his superior height and weight won out eventually. Ahsoka went on the defensive, backtracking as Anakin pursued her around the kitchen island. Both of them held back laughter as they traded a flurry of blows. 

She dodged Anakin's next swing instead of blocking, and the blue blade missed her nose by inches. Her eyes widened as she watched it instead connect with a fancy-looking vase sitting on the counter, ringing it like a bell. It wobbled dangerously and they both lunged for it, Anakin just managing to catch it with his free hand before it fell and shattered on the tile floor. 

Ahsoka’s heart pounded with a small rush of adrenaline. She would hate to see the look on Professor Kenobi’s face if he found out they had broken one of his nice things while having a lightsaber fight. 

Anakin very gently replaced the vase on the counter, glancing up at the ceiling with a sheepish expression. Ahsoka giggled when she realized he shared her concern. He slowly grinned back at her, and they both fell into a silent fit of laughter.

Once she could breathe again, Ahsoka busied herself closing her lightsaber and hooking it back onto the belt of her polyester Jedi robe. Anakin did the same, seemingly in unspoken agreement that one near miss was more than enough. 

Anakin glanced out the window, and Ahsoka followed his gaze towards where the dipping sun just brushed the roof of her house. He asked, “Are we ready to go?” 

Ahsoka shook her head, swallowing down a wave of fresh excitement. She was still thrilled that Anakin had offered to take them to the corn maze. Of course her dad had been happy to as well, but...

“Barriss is meeting me here first, she’s gonna spend the night after!” 

Anakin raised an eyebrow. “Fun.”

“Yeah, we’re going to watch a lot of scary movies.” Ahsoka said, feeling herself blush a little. She'd never watched a horror movie with Bariss before, and wondered if she was easily frightened. Maybe she would need to hold Ahsoka's hand during the suspenseful bits, or even cling to —

“I think I see her car parking in front of your house.” Anakin's voice cut through her train of thought. “Let me go say goodbye to Obi-Wan, he’s staying here tonight.” He looked up at the ceiling again, this time with an almost longing expression. “He’s just thrilled he doesn’t have to wear a costume.”

Ahsoka watched him turn and head toward the stairs, and called after him, “Won’t you get the flu if you kiss him?”

“Uhhh, maybe.” Anakin shrugged, looking back at her with an innocent looking smile. “It doesn’t matter, I’d rather have the flu and keep kissing him than stop kissing him even for a day.”

Ahsoka fake-gagged loudly. “God, you guys are so gross. Haven’t you been married for like... years now?”

“So? We love each other.” A genuine smile touched Anakin's lips as he spoke, as if he was just realizing it for the first time, again. He turned back to the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

“Gross!” Ahsoka repeated, unable to stop herself from smiling after him. “Just the worst."

Two years and five months after graduation... 

Anakin adjusted his devil horns and sighed. “Are you really sure you won’t dress up at all?” He looked at the pumpkin he just finished carving and back at Obi-Wan’s face. The likeness was not very good, but it had been fun to try. “I could find something easy for you. You could wear the cat ears I have.”

Obi-Wan gave him a pleading look, both his hands covered in pumpkin. “Please don’t make me, Anakin. You know I hate it.”

“Make you, I would never make you.” Anakin felt appalled. “it’s supposed to be fun!”

“I think my regular clothes are plenty of fun.” Obi-Wan said, refocusing on his pumpkin and pursing his lips. 

Anakin barked a laugh at his put-upon expression. “I cannot take you seriously sometimes, Obi-Wan, oh my god.” 

Obi-Wan huffed at him, raising his voice defensively. “I’m hosting a party at my house! I decorated my house! That’s got to be good enough.”

Anakin gave him a look, taking in Obi-Wan’s rolled up sleeves, his slightly flushed cheeks, and his dishevelled hair. He felt a surge of arousal, and it carried into his voice. “Yes, Professor.”

“Don’t do that,” Obi-Wan warned, eyes flashing to meet Anakin’s before returning back to the pumpkin.

“What?” Anakin said, innocently. He set his pumpkin aside and moved closer, wiping his hands on a rag. “I’m not doing anything.”

Obi-Wan watched him approach, his voice tight. “We don’t have time for that.” 

“Are you sure?” Anakin asked, entering Obi-Wan’s personal space.

“Yes! Children could be at the door at any time, let alone our friends. I have to finish this and wash my hands.”

Anakin got to his knees, and shuffled forward until he was between Obi-Wan’s legs. He could see Obi-Wan’s cock, half-hard already and yet still so big. He ran his fingers over it, making Obi-Wan hiss. 

Anakin looked up, eyes wide. “C’mon, Professor, you can finish in my mouth.”

“That’s definitely not what I meant by finish.” Obi-Wan said, looking at the clock. “Fine, but you have to hurry.”

“You can fuck my face then,” Anakin said cheerfully, unbuttoning Obi-Wan’s pants and pulling out his cock, which was flushed and thick, almost completely hard. He blew air on the sensitive tip. “You never last long when you do that.”

“Fine,” Obi-Wan said, voice strangled as Anakin swallowed his cock. “I can do that.”

Three years and five months after graduation... 

Obi-Wan sighed, his brow furrowed with reluctant concentration as he adjusted the location of one of the pins holding his black chiton over his shoulders, trying to make it easier to move his arm. He finished and raised and lowered his arm, testing the security of the pins, and then sighed again when it held. 

He’d insisted that the costumes at least be period accurate, if he truly had to do this. It seemed like at least a little liberty had been taken with the soft, heavy fabric of the chiton. He pinned and draped a dark gray himaton on top, appreciating the warmth and cover. 

Obi-Wan finished the ensemble with the winged, silver helmet in the bottom of the box. He studied the result in the long bedroom mirror, and frowned. “I don’t look good in hats.”

He heard Anakin answer from the bathroom across the hall, where he was finishing his outfit in secret, apparently wanting Obi-Wan to be surprised. “It’s not a hat, Erastēs. It’s Hades’ Helm of Invisibility, and yes, you do. You look good in everything.”

“I wish it actually made me invisible,” Obi-Wan said in a harassed undertone. 

He hadn’t realized the stakes when he’d made the wager about the number of students who would drop Quinlan’s Latin 101 class by the end of the first month. He hadn’t expected Quinlan to keep almost all of them, and he probably deserved this punishment, just for being a bitter Hellenist used to appalling drop rates. 

Ancient Greek looked harder but it wasn’t. People just never stuck around long enough to realize that. The alphabet was too intimidating.

Anakin finally came around the corner, and Obi-Wan felt a hot, leaping feeling in his stomach, a surge of something like panic. He swallowed, and looked again, eyes running up from the leather sandals on his feet to the flowers in his hair. Years of being married, and still Anakin could surprise him, take his breath away.

“How does it look? I think it’s neat.” Anakin turned in a circle, showing off his Persephone outfit—his arms bare, shoulders and collarbones peeking out beneath the pins, a wreath of what looked like real flowers crowning his hair, more flowers hanging around his neck, and for fuck’s sake around his wrists. His brown leather sandals had straps that wound around his ankles and calves, up almost to his knees. 

The heavy woolen fabric of his short peplos was pinned at his shoulders, falling to just above his knees, and was belted to draw attention to his slender waist. The wool was as green as fresh shoots of grass in springtime, and the color somehow made Anakin’s skin seem luminous. As he walked, a slit in the skirt showed off his strong thigh, drawing attention to his long legs. 

He looked like a statue brought to life, and Obi-Wan suddenly had a pang of sympathy for Pygmalion. “You are not wearing that.”

Anakin blinked at him, startled. “What? Why? You lost a bet, we have to.”

Obi-Wan waved a hand at his bare legs in indignation. “You’re supposed to be in a peplos. I thought a peplos was ankle length.”

“That’s only the Ionian peplos, Professor. ” Anakin answered back as if Obi-Wan was giving him a quiz, and Obi-Wan tried to ignore a spike of arousal. He didn’t know where to look, his eyes trying to take it all in at once. “This is a Dorian peplos. Spartan women wore them. Kit Fisto insisted I wear it. Something about Persephone probably showing some thigh.”

Obi-Wan sighed, rubbing his temples. “And where did you get the crown?”

“Plo gave it to me, but he said the whole Department chipped in for the flowers.”

“Did he? Did they?” Obi-Wan asked with a groan. He ran a hand down his face, smoothing his beard and trying to get level, but it was hard to do. Anakin’s skin seemed to gleam, as if it’d been recently oiled. Obi-Wan could smell him, faintly—the flowers in his hair, whatever sweet-smelling oil he’d rubbed in his skin. He murmured, “I will not survive this.”

“Why?” Anakin cocked his head to the side, a smile growing wider. “You’re still on about this?”

Obi-Wan blushed a little and looked back into the mirror, fiddling with the wrap of his himaton. “People will be looking at you.”

“They look at me all the time,” Anakin said gently, coming up between Obi-Wan and the mirror, kissing his cheek. He wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck and clung on tight, making Obi-Wan grumble. Anakin hugged him tighter, and murmured, “You know you don’t have to worry. It doesn’t matter if they look.”

Obi-Wan inhaled deeply, rubbing a hand up and down Anakin’s spine and letting the flowers and his familiar scent fill him with warmth. “I know, my Anankē. I know it doesn’t matter.”

“But it still bothers you?” Anakin relaxed against him, his voice full of understanding.

Obi-Wan kissed his neck, and spoke quietly against his skin, his eyes closed. “Yes, I think it always will. I see their eyes when they look at you, and I see them imagining things, wanting things, things that are mine. I want them to stop.”

Anakin sighed and pulled back, “You can’t control what they think, Erastēs. You have to ignore them and keep your eyes on me, not the people around me.” He walked over to the box on the bed, looking for his himaton. “I promise I’m only ever looking at you.”

Obi-Wan stared at his back, and then sighed. “I’ll do better. You look beautiful, paidika.”

“Thank you,” Anakin said, his eyes and voice full of sincerity. “I love you.” He picked up the pale pink himaton that came in the box and raised an eyebrow, bringing it toward the mirror.

“I love you too,” Obi-Wan answered with equal sincerity, his gaze pulled down as Anakin moved. He spoke again, voice slightly strangled. “You really cannot wear that.” 

Anakin sighed, trying to drape the cloak the right way with limited success. “We just went over this.” 

“No,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head. “This isn’t about me being jealous. This is about your cock, and how I can see it through the fabric.”

Anakin glanced down, and then grinned, giving Obi-Wan a mischievous look. “Do you want to know why?”

“Why,” Obi-Wan said flatly, without patience. His own cock was growing achingly hard, and it was making him irritated. “You cannot go out like that.”

“No, I can’t,” Anakin agreed. He smiled again, more deviously, and began to pull the soft green fabric up his thigh. “I had hoped you would notice, maybe help me take care of my problem.” 

Obi-Wan felt like he couldn’t breathe as the fabric rose, until suddenly it was high enough that all he saw was the naked skin of Anakin’s hard cock. He snapped, “Are you not wearing—” Anakin sucked in a surprised breath when Obi-Wan stepped closer, hand sliding up the back of Anakin’s thigh to brush his bare ass. “You’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” Anakin murmured, sliding his legs apart slightly, inviting Obi-Wan’s hand to keep moving up. 

Obi-Wan’s fingers brushed Anakin’s entrance and then stopped, stroking again with more pressure. “Are you…” He stroked Anakin’s sensitive skin again, appreciating the glide of his fingers with the warm oil coating his skin. He pushed in a finger slightly, making Anakin gasp. Obi-Wan spoke roughly, almost an accusation, “You prepared yourself for me.”

“Yes,” Anakin whispered, and then whimpered when Obi-Wan teased him with the tip of a finger circling his ready hole. “I’d wanted you to fuck me before we went to the party, but I knew you would say we didn’t have enough time.”

“You needn’t have worried,” Obi-Wan said, pulling his hand away. Anakin made a face like he was about to protest, when Obi-Wan spun him around and pushed him toward the bed. “I would have wanted to make sure you had my come inside you before we left anyway, looking like that. I would have settled for your mouth, though, you’re right. Bend over.”

Anakin leaned forward onto the bed, spreading his legs. He looked back over his shoulder, meeting Obi-Wan’s intent stare with wide eyes. “I wanted you to—”

“Fuck you in the ass, yes, I understand. You didn’t want to swallow my come, you wanted it dripping down your thighs, is that right?” Obi-Wan said, voice low.

Anakin just whined in response, his legs spreading wider, his back arching to press his hips back. Obi-Wan pushed the fabric of Anakin's chiton up, appreciating how the back of his thighs met the curve of his ass, the golden skin exposed higher and higher until he could see his slick, pink entrance.

Obi-Wan kicked off his own underwear and pulled up his own chiton, his cock bare and hard. 

“Did you finger yourself enough, darling? Are you ready?” Obi-Wan asked, one hand holding up his chiton, the other pressing the head of his cock against Anakin’s ass. Anakin just whined and rocked his hips back, and Obi-Wan pulled his cock back, his voice husky. “Answer me, paidika.”

“I’m ready, you can—” Anakin's words choked off as Obi-Wan pushed in the tip of his cock. “—fuck me, yes, thank you!”

Obi-Wan groaned at the tight, slick, heat of Anakin’s ass. He pushed in easily, Anakin having made himself perfectly ready. Anakin rocked back against him, and Obi-Wan gripped his hip and thrust forward harder, sliding his cock all the way inside and exhaling loudly. “Fuck, Anakin.”

“Fuck,” Anakin agreed, rocking his hips again. “Feel so good.” 

“Yes, paidika.” Obi-Wan fucked him slowly, moving in and out, speeding up. He flexed his grip on Anakin’s hip, tipping his hips back slightly and then fucked in hard, pressing exactly where he knew would make Anakin groan. 

Anakin groaned, “How do you always…”

“You’re mine,” Obi-Wan said, his breathing heavy. “I know what you like. Mine, Anankē.” He felt like his speech was losing coherence even faster than normal, but it felt so good as he fucked Anakin harder, the force of it pounding Anakin forward, his back swaying more and more. “Touch yourself.”

Anakin whimpered in response, a hand jumping to his cock, moving quickly. “Yes, Professor.”

Obi-Wan fucked him harder, almost growling. The flowers in Anakin’s hair smelled so sweet, his sweat and his skin. Obi-Wan felt like he was losing rhythm too fast. “You’re perfect, paidika, I’m going to come now, fill you up.” 

Anakin made a sound of approval, his hand moving even faster on his cock to keep pace. “Please, Professor, I’m yours, only, always, yours.”

“Mine,” Obi-Wan agreed, his hips stuttering as he came. His fingers tightened and eyes closed, the pleasure radiating as he spilled his come deep inside. He groaned as he felt Anakin begin to come too, his body tightening even further. “Good, Anakin, so good.”

They were perfectly still for a moment, catching their breath. Obi-Wan glanced at the clock and laughed at himself. “Didn’t take too long, actually.”

Anakin slumped forward completely, a dreamy look still on his face. “It was perfect.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “Hold still, I’m going to clean you up.”

“Yes,” Anakin said agreeably. “I don’t want to move at all.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan muttered, opening the small drawer on the bedside table. He extracted some wipes, aware of Anakin’s eyes on his face.

He came back, and looked with satisfaction at the way his come looked on Anakin’s ass. He wished he could leave it, but knew he couldn’t. He sighed, and began cleaning him up properly.

He wiped Anakin's hand clean, and Anakin spoke again, sounding a little more coherent. “I can’t believe you fucked me with a helmet on, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan realized that was the case, suddenly aware of the weight on his head and grinned. “I didn’t think to take it off. I was a little preoccupied.”

“Sure,” Anakin hummed as Obi-Wan pulled him upright and walked him to the dresser. He nodded at the pair of underwear Obi-Wan picked, and put them on. 

Obi-Wan helped him readjust the crown of flowers on his head and the drape of his soft pink cloak. “Are you ready to go, Anankē?”

“Yes, Professor. Let’s go.”

3 Days After Graduation

Obi-Wan woke slowly, and then all at once. 

His bedroom was washed in soft morning sunlight, streaming in the large bay windows. The birds were chirping loudly outside, and rather insistently. It was a beautiful Monday morning in early June, and he could already tell from the air that it would be unreasonably hot. 

He blinked and stretched, a hand running absently over the imprint of Anakin’s body left in the sheets beside him. How was it already strange to wake up alone? He’d only had Anakin in his bed for a single weekend, and yet waking up without him felt wrong, off-balance. How had he already gotten used to it?

Based on the location of the sun, Obi-Wan guessed that he’d slept in relatively late. It made sense, given how he and Anakin had stayed up past midnight talking the night before, enjoying the beginning of summer vacation. 

Obi-Wan grimaced, feeling a slight wine hangover, and wondered if Anakin felt it too. The whole weekend already had a slightly unreal quality in his memory. They’d spend so many hours just talking about everything and nothing, with Anakin curled up on his chest—the sound of his laugh, the shape of his smile, the brilliance of his words, the amount of touching. It all seemed impossible. 

Obi-Wan could finally touch him—Anakin, his Anakin—the man he’d been avoiding even looking at for years, unable to stop wondering about how it would feel to grab his hair or kiss his neck. Now he knew, and it was better than he could have ever imagined. Soft, hard, smooth, wet—Anakin’s body was so perfect.

Obi-Wan coughed and shifted, sitting up and trying to communicate to his cock that they were alone. The house was so quiet, the birds so loud, his neighbor was starting his lawn mower—definitely time to get up. He desperately needed a cup of tea, so he got out of bed, yawning and scratching his chest as he pulled on a pair of pajama pants that hadn’t stayed on long enough to sleep in. 

He snagged Anakin’s dirty clothes off the ground and tossed them in his hamper with his own, and went about his morning routine as usual. He felt a surge of quiet satisfaction at seeing Anakin’s toothbrush next to his on the bathroom counter, still wet from use. He knew that Anakin had probably just left to run to the robotics lab on campus. He’d been putting it off all weekend. They’d certainly been busy.

Other than a brief trip by Anakin’s mother’s place on Saturday morning and sitting through Convocation in the burning sun that afternoon, it had just been the two of them at Obi-Wan’s house. Finally. Obi-Wan had a slight sunburn on his nose, and a deep aversion to the idea of seeing anyone from the university—other professors, random students, or worse, parents of random students—again until autumn. 

He’d earned a break. 

He padded down the stairs to the kitchen, enjoying the feeling of bare feet on soft carpet. His headache was mild, but still irritating. He had barbecued the night before, a perfect early summer evening. After a few glasses of rosé, Anakin had ended up in his lap in the rocking chair on the back porch, shaded and hidden by leafy trees, rubbing their cocks together with Obi-Wan’s hand clasped over his mouth to muffle his moans.

“Oh!” Obi-Wan said, surprised.

Anakin was standing in the kitchen wearing only his glasses and his boxers, apparently trying to make the very broken coffee machine work. He hadn’t left yet, he was still here, he was… he was shirtless, his legs were so long, the sunlight caressed his skin, he was a statue come to life.

Obi-Wan leaned back against the doorframe and watched for a long moment, appreciating the way that Anakain’s muscles in his back and arms flexed as he bent over the counter, frowning slightly. The tangled mop of his hair didn’t bother Obi-Wan as much now that he remembered running his hands through it, messing it up himself. 

Seeing Anakin in his kitchen still felt a bit as if some rare, beautiful species of butterfly had settled on his finger, and he didn’t want to even breathe and startle it away. He wanted him to stay forever. 

Anakin didn’t look up, but hummed a quiet, “Morning.” 

Obi-Wan resumed his quest to put the kettle on, giving a still-focused Anakin a kiss on the cheek as he frowned down at the broken coffee machine. Anakin hummed again, and Obi-Wan smiled, his voice was rough and low from sleep. “Can you fix it?” 

“Can I?” Anakin gave him a teasing look, his bright eyes flashing. “Yes, probably, but should I? No.” He tossed the broken piece onto the counter. 

“Why not?” Obi-Wan’s smile grew as he measured out loose leaf tea and put it in the infuser. 

“Because you need a better one, this one…” Anakin tapped on the lid with disdain, “is garbage.”

Obi-Wan shrugged, waiting for the electric kettle to boil. “I rarely drink coffee, so I haven’t really needed one.”

Anakin’s plush bottom lip stuck out in an expression that Anakin would always deny was a pout. “Well, I drink coffee.”

“Indeed.” Obi-Wan studied his face, trying not to smirk, and then turned to pour hot water into the teapot. “I suppose I could invest in a better one.”

“You should just get a French press like mine, I think it’s the best.” Anakin said, smiling happily to get his way. He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his bare chest, watching Obi-Wan study the refrigerator. 

Obi-Wan remained quiet for a moment, intentionally busy with looking through the available options for omelettes. Anakin seemed content to just watch, his gaze steady and reassuring. The tea timer chimed, and Obi-Wan poured both of them cups of strong black tea, and took a long sip. “Does your mother use it?” 

“The French press?” Anakin gave him a bemused look. “No, she drinks tea too.”

“You could bring it here,” Obi-Wan said, feeling almost shy. 

Anakin stared at him, going still. “I could?” 

Obi-Wan stepped closer, his voice becoming quieter. “Unless you plan to spend more nights at your mother’s house than you do here.”

“You want me around on more than just the weekend?” Anakin matched his volume, almost whispering back, his face vulnerable.

Obi-Wan stared at him, appreciating the light in Anakin’s hair, the way his skin seemed to glow. He was so beautiful, so clever, so perfect.  He nodded, and glanced around the kitchen before taking another step closer. Anakin spread his legs slightly, letting Obi-Wan move to stand between them, pinning him to the counter, so close their chests were almost touching. 

“I could get used to it,” Obi-Wan murmured. They were so close together, like gravity had pulled their bodies together with an inexorable pull. The kitchen faded away, all that existed was Anakin’s strong bare chest, his long neck, his bright eyes. 

Anakin tipped his head to the side, his breath shaky. “Get used to what?” 

“You, here, in the morning.” Obi-Wan said, emphatic and gentle. He set down his mug on the counter and took the tea out of Anakin’s hand as well. 

Anakin let him remove his mug easily, his voice almost a whine. “You like it?” 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, and leaned forward, kissing him softly, and then deeply, tasting the mix of his favorite tea with the familiar taste of his own toothpaste, mixed with something indefinable and addictive, the taste of Anakin. His hands slid down Anakin’s chest and around to his back, holding him tight and making him shiver.

“Yes, alright,” Anakin gasped, pulling his head back and tossing his glasses on the counter before leaning back in for another kiss, wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck. “I’ll bring it here.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan breathed, moving from Anakin’s lips to kissing down his neck, speaking into his skin. “I want you here all the time.” 

Anakin’s whimper in his ears was like music. “Really?”

Obi-Wan pulled his head back, making eye contact, feeling a surge of affection. “Yes, paidika. I want you here. I want you.”

“I want you too,” Anakin said emphatically, pulling him closer, whining as he felt Obi-Wan’s cock press against his own. “So much.”

Obi-Wan teasingly slid his fingertips under Anakin’s boxers and gripped the soft muscles of Anakin’s ass, before pulling his hands away with a sigh. “Let’s go back upstairs.”

“Why?” Anakin whined, rocking his hips against Obi-Wan, insistently pressing his hard cock against Obi-Wan’s. “Fuck me here. Fuck me now.”

“The lube is upstairs,” Obi-Wan said, swallowing a groan at Anakin’s voice demanding such wonderful, filthy things. “Let’s go.”

Anakin pointedly looked at the counter, and Obi-Wan followed his gaze to the green glass bottle next to the stove. He barked a laugh. “Olive oil?”

“It would work,” Anakin laughed, slightly embarrassed. “You know it would, Professor.”

“Technically, yes,” Obi-Wan said, humming with deliberation before shaking his head. “We can’t, Anankē.”

“Why not?” Anakin’s not-a-pout pout had returned in full force. 

Obi-Wan sighed. “Because olive oil breaks condoms.”

“So what?” Anakin said mulishly. “Don’t wear one.”

“What?” The idea of it—fucking Anakin raw—shot through Obi-Wan like a spike of desire. His cock throbbed. 

Anakin shoved off his boxers, and palmed his cock. “I’m clean. I was tested and it’s been… awhile."

Obi-Wan’s brain felt like it was full of static, and his voice came out rough. “You want me to fuck you here, now, without a condom, using olive oil as lube.”

“Yes,” Anakin said defiantly. Doubt crossed his face like a cloud across the sun. “Can… can you? Or are you…”

Obi-Wan shook his head quickly, trying to clear the fog. “I’m clean, yes, of course. I’m not sleeping with anyone else. I haven’t for a long time either.” Anakin’s eyes were full of so much concern and hope. Obi-Wan reached out absently and stroked his cheek with his thumb, reassuring him. “Yes, because of you.”

“Good.” Anakin blushed and looked down, seeming to be unable to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes. “I really want you to come in me, Professor. I’ve thought about it so much. I want to go to campus and know I’ve still got your come inside me.”

Obi-Wan felt choked. He dropped his hand. “I don’t… Anankē. I don’t do that unless… exclusive.”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin took a shaky breath, looking at him tentatively. “I… I already am. Have been. I don’t want anyone else, I haven’t, I won’t. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Obi-Wan stared at him blankly. Why was he resisting something he wanted so much? He pulled away and turned to the stove, crossing the room and reaching for the bottle. 

Anakin’s sudden smile was blinding. “How do you want me?”

Obi-Wan slid his eyes up and down Anakin’s naked body, and then hummed. “Turn around and bend over the sink, paidika.”

“Yes, erastēs,” Anakin said, obediently following directions. His back extended, the line of his spine impossibly long and straight. Obi-Wan wanted to follow the length of it with his tongue. He could, he would.

Obi-Wan came back closer, instructing in Anakin's ear, voice low and intent, “Spread your legs.”

“Is that right?” Anakin rocked his hips back, moving his feet apart, presenting his ass as best he could.

Obi-Wan opened the bottle and rubbed olive oil between his fingers thoughtfully. “Very good.”

Anakin’s tiny sigh of satisfaction made Obi-Wan smirk. He stepped closer, pressing a kiss between Anakin’s shoulder blades and stroking between Anakin’s legs, liberally spreading oil. He shook his head. “This is a rather strange smell association. I feel as though I should be cooking.”

Anakin laughed breathily, rocking his hips into Obi-Wan’s touch, “Yeah, I didn’t really think about that.”

“They used to bathe with this stuff,” Obi-Wan said in an almost conversational tone. He pressed his fingertips slightly harder against Anakin's entrance, testing how much preparation he would need. Not much, they’d fucked last night, last afternoon, so many times since Friday, it would be so easy to open him up.

“I know,” Anakin whimpered as Obi-Wan smoothly slid two fingers inside. “I don’t care right now.”

“I know, darling,” Obi-Wan said fondly, fucking his fingers in and out. He curled his fingers slightly and pressed down, rubbing as best he could on Anakin’s prostate. Anakin whined, his back arching further, his hands gripping the edge of the sink. 

His voice was desperate, his cheeks so flushed. “Obi-Wan, please.”

“You’re almost ready, Anankē,” Obi-Wan murmured. “You’ve been so good for me, taken my cock so well, it’s so easy to fuck you, so easy when you’re always ready.”

Anakin moaned, his cock twitching. “I always want to be ready for you.”

“I could fuck you whenever I wanted,” Obi-Wan said with satisfaction, pulling his fingers out. 

“Whenever,” Anakin echoed back. “Whenever you want me, you can have me.”

Obi-Wan exhaled hard and shoved his sleep pants out of the way, dispensing more oil and rubbing it on his cock. It had been years since he’d had sex without a condom, it felt slightly surreal to be rubbing his naked cock with lube.

Anakin turned his head to look back, watching him with an intoxicated look. “Fuck me.”

Obi-Wan stared into his hazy blue eyes, and pressed the head of his cock against Anakin’s slick entrance, hyper-aware of skin touching skin. He rubbed and teased, the pleasure of it already overwhelming. “You’re mine.”

“Yes, yours.” Anakin agreed quickly, pushing his hips back against the hardness of Obi-Wan’s cock. He whimpered when the tip slid inside. "Yours."

“Only mine.” Obi-Wan pulled his hips back, teasing him more. 

Anakin rolled his eyes in fond exasperation, rocking his hips in invitation. “Yes, Professor.”

Obi-Wan exhaled hard and shoved his hips forward, his entire cock sinking deep inside Anakin in one smooth, steady thrust. They both groaned, and Obi-Wan’s hands gripped hard on Anakin’s hips, trying to stay in control. “Fuck,” he swore lowly, and Anakin whined in agreement. 

“You’re so big, Professor, I’m so full.” Anakin said dreamily, and rocked his hips, spreading his legs, opening himself up more. “Feels so good.”

Obi-Wan hummed, pulling his hips back and putting even more olive oil on his cock before fucking in harder, sinking in deeper, making Anakin gasp and clutch at the sink. “Like that?”

“Yes,” Anakin said breathily, moaning as Obi-Wan began fucking him faster, losing himself in the tight, soft, heat of Anakin’s body, the slick slide of the oil. He was fucking him bare, would come inside him, leave his come inside.

Obi-Wan felt a wash of surreality, the sense of living a dream. The kitchen was full of the sound of him fucking Anakin, hips snapping forward, driving him against the counter. He was rocking back into it, his head tipped forward, taking it so well. A life unfolded, having this, every day. “Look… look at me.”

Anakin’s head jerked back up, his pleasure hazed blue eyes seeking Obi-Wan’s. “What?”

“M-move in,” Obi-Wan said, his hands gripping harder. “Stay. Always.”

“Always?” Anakin slurred, his face so adorably focused. “Move?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan nodded, feeling like he was falling, flying, dreaming, awake, alive. “Mine.”

Anakin nodded quickly, his eyes full of emotion. “Yes.”

“Only mine,” Obi-Wan said emphatically. His hand, slick with olive oil, slid around from Anakin’s hip and grasped Anakin’s cock, stroking it quickly. 

“Yes,” Anakin smiled widely, blissfully, his eyes losing focus as Obi-Wan’s hand moved faster on his cock. “I p-promise. Always.”

“Always? Promise?” Obi-Wan said, feeling so close to tipping over the edge, the pleasure of his incipient orgasm starting to spread and unfurl up his spine, the first signs of release stirring in his stomach. He laughed, feeling the necessity of it, the inevitability of it. “Marry me?” 

“What?” Anakin gasped, moaning.

“Husband,” Obi-Wan said with satisfaction, his wrist twisting as he jerked Anakin’s cock. “My husband.”

Anakin muttered something incoherent that transformed quickly into a groan. His eyes rolled back, eyelashes fluttering shut, as come started to spill from his cock, filling Obi-Wan’s palm and dripping onto the floor. His body tightened around Obi-Wan’s, and the increase of pressure was enough for one more sharp thrust to push Obi-Wan over the edge as well.

He came hard inside Anakin, marking him, claiming him as his own. The pleasure of that idea—husband, his husband—compounded his orgasm, making him light-headed with pleasure. He leaned forward, pressing his chest against Anakin’s back, breathing hard. His head was pressed against Anakin’s neck, breathing in the scent of his skin. 

The kitchen was quiet again, the sound of their combined breathing very loud. After a few long moments, Anakin shifted his weight and Obi-Wan pulled back, slipping his cock out with a sigh. He watched with satisfaction as his come trickled out behind, and pushed two fingers back in, keeping his come inside for just a little longer. 

“Did you mean it?” Anakin asked, as if his mind was coming back online, processing what he’d heard. His voice full of cautious hope and disbelief.

Obi-Wan swallowed, thinking back through all the words he’d said. It was insane. He sounded insane. It was also everything he wanted. He knew what was right—Anakin was right. He wanted him, needed him. He squared his shoulders, raised his chin. “Yes.”

Anakin laughed, and relaxed. “When anyone asks how we got engaged, we can never tell them.”

“No…” Obi-Wan smiled widely at the secret they were going to have to keep, just for them to know. “We really can’t.”

Christmas Eve, 7 months after graduation…

Anakin was texting on the ski lift again. 

Obi-Wan looked sideways at the way Anakin was furiously typing away with his thumbs, his bare fingers exposed to the winter air, his gloves held somewhat precariously in his lap. “You’re going to drop your gloves, or your phone, or both.”

Anakin huffed without looking up, his thumbs tapping away even faster. “Am not.”

Obi-Wan’s silence spoke volumes, and Anakin sighed. He shoved his phone back into his jacket pocket and zipped it up, tugging on his gloves with a sarcastic flair. 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at his dramatics. “What can possibly be so important?”

Anakin wrinkled his nose, kicking the edge of his board with his free foot. “People are stupid.”

“I’m afraid you will have to be a bit more specific, my love.” 

Anakin’s windblown cheeks flushed even more pink, and he looked over, so aggrieved. “I posted a simple, obvious answer to a question on stackexchange, and then this idiot, rclovis69, he said I was wrong, and offered to help me, as if I need that, and so, I…“ he trailed off, and then coughed, his eyes dropping. “Does it matter, Professor?”

“That is what I’m asking you.”

“No, no, you’re right, of course not.” He kicked off the last of the snow encrusted on the top of his board, and snuggled his face down into his jacket to protect himself from the brisk winter air, putting his goggles back on with a snap. “He’s just so stupid. I don’t need his stupid help, I have a fucking degree in this. I know what I’m talking about. He’s wrong.”

“Must you—”

“Sorry.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. He wanted to kiss Anakin’s sullen mouth, but the chairlift was hardly the correct venue for that sort of behavior. He looked up the mountain, trying to estimate how much longer it would be to the top. The double chair they were riding on was fairly old, and not terribly fast, so it would be some minutes yet. It was fine, he could really use a break to rest his legs. 

It was the third day of their trip, and by far the most beautiful. The clouds had finally rolled away to reveal a glorious blue sky in the foothills of the Canadian Rockies, and the air was crisp in his lungs. It was cold, but not unbearably so, and it smelled so fresh; the alpine scent of clean snow and healthy forest was deeply familiar, sparking old, happy memories from his childhood. 

He tapped his ski tips together, feeling a strange mixture of ancient and childlike. The hill was so removed from everyday life, a whole other realm where time eddied and repeated in a happy loop. It was almost surreal in its beauty: the midday sun shone softly against the snow, making the trees a vibrant green, the bark a rich, familiar brown. The views from the top of the mountain were striking, and even here, lower down, by twisting his head to look back behind the chair, Obi-Wan could see for miles. 

They had come for a week to ski in Canada during the winter break, renting a small chalet slopeside, and had been lucky enough to get a string of decent weather. It was so beautiful, Obi-Wan’s breath was continually caught by the sweeping vista, seeing so deep into the mountains, the jagged peaks reminding him of his trips to the alps. 

It was only Anakin’s third day on a snowboard, and Obi-Wan couldn’t believe how skilled he was already. His natural athleticism and the fact that he’d spent hundreds of hours skateboarding were apparently paying off. He was good at everything he tried, his inexplicable, perfect, paidika.  

He was already able to keep up with Obi-Wan, who had been skiing for many years. He was always on the move, trying small jumps on the side of the runs and generally being as reckless and foolish as possible. When Obi-Wan had pointed this out, Anakin was quick to tease him. “You ski like such an old man.”

Obi-Wan had narrowed his eyes—Anakin’s bratty tone had reminded him with a sharp strike of arousal of that morning when he snuck into Obi-Wan’s shower and made himself enough of a nuisance that Obi-Wan was simply forced to shove him against the wall and fill him with his cock until he whimpered and drooled. “What do you mean?” 

Anakin had laughed and darted away, pointing his board almost straight down the steepest line of the hill, making Obi-Wan curse and chase after, pushing off with his poles for more speed, trying to shake off his arousal. Anakin’s black coat and helmet were easy to follow, and it was almost intoxicatingly fun. He’d chase Anakin anywhere. 

He was still glad there were chairlift rides to punctuate the day to give him a break, or he’d never be able to keep up. He absently rubbed the aching muscles on his thighs and Anakin snorted. “Tired already, old man?”

Obi-Wan made an unhappy noise. “Old man, really?” 

Anakin hummed happily. “So old, in your beige jacket. What color is that, Werthers Original?”

“I happen to like this jacket,” Obi-Wan said flatly. “What was your remark earlier, about my skiing?”

Anakin grinned at the danger layered in Obi-Wan’s voice, his mouth opening wide enough to dimple his cheeks, flashing white teeth. He mimicked Obi-Wan’s formal skiing posture as best he could while sitting down with a snowboard strapped to his foot. His voice was teasing, almost reveling in his own insolence. “Knees together, swoosh swoosh, you know?”

Obi-Wan was deeply unimpressed. “It’s the correct technique, Anakin. I’m certainly not slow.” 

“No… but nobody skis like that anymore.” 

“And you’re the expert?”

“Nobody has a stick up their ass like you, Professor.” Anakin laughed happily, and it was such a charming sound that Obi-Wan was instantly disarmed despite himself.

“Well, nobody does it right, then,” Obi-Wan grumbled. “Qui-Gon always said…” 

Anakin tipped his head to the side. “Yeah?”

Obi-Wan’s chest felt tight, the last of his annoyance fading away. He knew Qui-Gon would have loved to be there, loved to know Anakin, loved to see Obi-Wan happy, but had passed away unfairly young. “We had some good trips when I was younger. He taught me how to race.” 

“Good,” Anakin said quietly. “I’m glad. That sounds fun.” His voice was so warm and fond that Obi-Wan glanced over, his stomach flipping pleasantly. He still had trouble believing Anakin was really his husband, that this was really his life. There was nobody he would rather have at his side.

They reached the top of the lift and disembarked, sliding down the gentle slope and coming to a stop out of the way, near the large, snow-encrusted map of the ski area. Obi-Wan lifted a pole and pointed at the board, drawing Anakin’s attention to a densely illustrated patch of trees just outside of the marked trails.

“We can take this shortcut to the base of Chair 4, where this blue run begins. It wraps around to the front side and then we can head down to the lodge for a beer. I know it’s out of bounds, but I’m sure you can handle it. Does that sound good?” 

He looked over, and huffed with annoyance, snagging Anakin’s phone out of his hands, and Anakin grabbed after it unsuccessfully. “Hey!” 

Obi-Wan gave him a pointed, disappointed look as he pocketed it, pushing off with his poles, quickly skating away across the flat lift area toward the run. Anakin cried out after him with amused annoyance. He didn’t take long to strap into his board and catch up, intently chasing after Obi-Wan and his stolen phone. 

Obi-Wan could sense him getting close behind him, his looming presence giving him a gentle thrill of adrenaline. He sped up, rocking from edge to edge on his skis, carving the buttery groomed trail. He skied quickly down the cat track and then slid to an abrupt stop beside a roped off area. 

Anakin came to a somewhat hectic stop beside him, surprised by Obi-Wan’s change in direction, and sat down on the edge of the run with a thump. He peered over the edge down the steep, mostly untracked powder where Obi-Wan was looking, and frowned with confusion. “That’s out of bounds.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan drawled slightly, enjoying how Anakin‘s attention snapped to his face and his cheeks flamed. “I believe I said so earlier. It’s fine, just a future expansion area, so it's unpatrolled with some uncleared brush. I'd like to smoke.”  

“Oh, fine. Lead the way.”

Obi-Wan ducked the rope and somewhat cautiously picked his line through the overgrown trees, hearing Anakin sliding along behind him. He pulled off to the side to a place where three trees grew close together, their branches intertwined, creating a protected area from the wind, private and blocked from view from above. Perfect. 

He clicked off his skis and sat down heavily in the snow, pulling off his helmet and setting it aside, shoving his gloves safely inside. He watched with gentle amusement as Anakin awkwardly extricated himself from his snowboard bindings. Obi-Wan pulled out a cigarette and his lighter, warming it with his hand for a moment before lighting the tip and taking a long drag. 

Anakin tugged off his helmet too, and his curls were a charming mess. He was intently watching Obi-Wan’s mouth as he placed the cigarette between his lips and then he shook his head to clear it. He sat and lay back beside him, wiggling to dig himself into the snowbank and looking up at the sky for a long, quiet moment. 

Obi-Wan relaxed into the silence, the nicotine hitting his brain pleasantly, watching the smoke curl in the bright, patchy sunbeams that pierced through the branches. Anakin’s pleading voice shattered the peace almost immediately. “Can I have my phone back now?”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “No.”

Anakin whined and rolled his face toward Obi-Wan, his bottom lip pouting, looking up through his lashes in a way he probably knew from experience was highly effective. “Please, Professor?”

Obi-Wan sighed, exhaling smoke through his teeth and flicking ash. “Why?”

“Someone is wrong on the internet.”

“Anakin…”

“I just want to check it one more time. Then I’ll be done, I swear.” Obi-Wan scoffed, and Anakin’s voice became huskier, almost coy. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

Obi-Wan swallowed—Anakin’s tone pierced inside him and flooded him with heat. He made his voice disinterested and cool. “Will you really?”

Anakin nodded quickly, looking Obi-Wan up and down for a moment before crawling up and onto his lap, making Obi-Wan huff and wrap an arm around his back. He nuzzled into Obi-Wan’s neck, his breath hot and humid against his skin. “I can be so good for you.”

Obi-Wan hummed, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Can you?”

“Yes, erastēs.”

Obi-Wan made a low, involuntary noise. His cock was getting hard so quickly it ached, making him almost dizzy. He wondered if he would ever be less attracted to his husband, or if Anakin would always be able to drive him crazy with a handful of words. He couldn’t imagine a world where he couldn’t. 

“If you make me hard, you have to take care of it. You know the rules.” 

Anakin nodded quickly, exhaling a shaky breath, his hips rolling down against Obi-Wan’s, instinctively seeking pressure. They were both wearing so many layers, Obi-Wan couldn’t tell for sure, but he would bet anything that Anakin was hard too. He shoved his cigarette into the snow beside them and wrapped both arms around Anakin’s back, gathering him close and murmuring in his ear, “If you suck my cock well enough, I’ll let you come, darling.”

“Please,” Anakin whispered, rocking against him. 

“We need to be quick,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, and raised an eyebrow dubiously. “I believe this will be a test for you, Anankē. Have you been studying?”

“Yes, Professor,” Anakin said shakily, his eyes down and bashful, cheeks so red. “I had a cock in my mouth for an hour last night. I’m ready.”

Obi-Wan smiled crookedly at him, a spike of arousal accompanying the vivid flash of memory of Anakin obediently kneeling between his legs, drooling around his cock as he’d answered his emails. He petted Anakin’s hair, and then pushed him down by the back of the neck, guiding him down toward his cock. Anakin complied beautifully with the suggestion, yielding as always before Obi-Wan’s instruction, and Obi-Wan felt his cock leak in his underwear. The sooner he was deep in Anakin’s mouth, the better.  

Anakin quickly settled between his knees, opening Obi-Wan’s pants and eagerly pulling out his flushed, hard length. The sudden shock of cold air was quickly replaced by a hot mouth as Anakin leaned forward, immediately engulfing the head of his cock with wet heat, wrapping his large, warm hand around what his mouth couldn’t easily swallow. 

Obi-Wan groaned, sinking both hands into Anakin’s soft curls, tugging gently and making him moan around him. He pulled back with a gasp, and spat on Obi-Wan’s cock, his mouth already so wet. He gently squeezed Obi-Wan’s length as he stroked him up and down, his grip teasing and firm. “So hard for me, Professor. Am I doing well?”

“Yes, very good work.”

Anakin shivered happily at his words and licked the head of Obi-Wan’s cock as precome spilled out. He moaned at the taste, kissing the tip once before relaxing his jaw and taking him deep, letting the tip hit the back of his throat. 

Obi-Wan made a low, pleased sound, and felt so incredibly full of affection. “Take yourself out too, paidika. I want to watch you touch yourself.”

Anakin pulled back and gasped, his mouth wet and eyes wide, his fist moving quickly up and down Obi-Wan’s cock. “I can?”

Obi-Wan smiled slowly, the intent one, full of promise, that always made Anakin melt. “I want you to come with my cock in your mouth, darling.”

Anakin whimpered predictably. “Yes, erastēs.”

He took Obi-Wan’s cock deep in his mouth and hollowed his cheeks, sucking gently as he fumbled with his snowpants, pulling himself out. He pulled back to spit into his hand, using the saliva to begin jerking himself off quickly. He kissed the tip of Obi-Wan’s cock and asked breathlessly, “Can I come, Professor?”

Obi-Wan nodded indulgently and petted his hair, scratching his scalp and making him moan. He sucked Obi-Wan’s cock back into his mouth, bobbing up and down, his tongue pressing just right. He had so much practice at sucking Obi-Wan’s cock, he was so perfect. It felt so good, Obi-Wan was getting so close.  

Obi-Wan tightened his grip on Anakin’s hair and shoved his cock deeper down his throat, beginning to gently fuck his face. Anakin melted into his hold, relaxing his jaw and taking his cock so perfectly, his hand moving faster on himself, squeezing his own cock tight and twisting his wrist. Obi-Wan decided to shove him over the edge. “I love you, Anakin, husband.”

Anakin’s eyes widened and then squeezed closed as he coughed around Obi-Wan’s cock, clearly surprised as his orgasm swept through him, coming into his hand, and his throat tightened around Obi-Wan.  

Obi-Wan swallowed a groan as he teetered off the edge too, pulling his hips back and sliding his cock out to let Anakin breathe. He came on Anakin’s face, streaks coating his lips and open mouth as he gasped up at him, expression blissful. He licked his lips and swallowed thickly, wiping sloppily at his mouth with the back of his hand, and slumped forward against Obi-Wan’s chest with a happy little sigh. 

Obi-Wan quickly tucked himself back into his ski pants, and exhaled shakily. He opened his arms, and instructed gently. “Come here.”

Anakin groaned with mock exhaustion, but crawled up easily, straddling him and kissing him. Obi-Wan happily sucked on his bottom lip for a moment before pushing him back, searching his pockets for his packet of wet wipes. Anakin rolled his eyes but submitted to Obi-Wan making sure they were tidy. Obi-Wan wrapped his cigarette filter in the used wipe and carefully zipped the trash into a separate bag and tucked them away as Anakin watched with fond patience. 

“Can I have my phone back?”

Obi-Wan nodded and handed it over willingly. “I’d prefer it if you weren’t constantly using it.”

“Okay,” Anakin said easily, putting it away without checking it. “I promise, I’ll be good.”

Obi-Wan kissed him and rested his head against his shoulder, mustering his strength. It really was so perfectly peaceful, alone in the woods in winter, just them two. He murmured eventually, “I would have given it back anyway. It’s safer for you to have it. In case we get separated.” 

Anakin shrugged, and pulled away, looking at his snowboard, and then at a rather lax Obi-Wan, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Race you to the bottom?”

Obi-Wan blinked. “Wait just a—”

Anakin darted into motion, shoving his helmet and gloves back on, hustling toward his board, and Obi-Wan spoke conversationally to his back, reluctantly tugging on his own gloves. “You don’t know where you’re going.”

“Downhill, probably!” Anakin grinned over his shoulder, hurriedly cleaning snow out of his bindings.

“That is only partially correct.” Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, voice very stern. “You will wait to race me until we are back in bounds, Anakin.”

Anakin groaned with annoyance, but waited obediently for Obi-Wan to lead the way out of the trees. “If you insist. Boring.”

“Safe.”

“Boring.”

Anakin carefully placed a fresh quarter log on the fire and let it go, hoping it would stay in place. He prodded at it once, as if for emphasis, and then set the fancy iron poker aside. He watched as the bright flames licked around the fresh log with satisfaction before scooting back to his seat. He couldn’t help but run his hands on the cozy throw carpet as he did. It probably should have been an animal skin or something to fit in with the western, rustic decor, but it thankfully wasn’t.

It was just a soft and squashy burgundy oval that felt amazing beneath his hands as he sat with his back propped against the front of the couch, leaning against Obi-Wan’s legs. He relaxed, stretching out his feet and enjoying his toes getting toasty from the flames, and drank more of the sweet, alcoholic hot chocolate that Obi-Wan had concocted for him and sighed happily, his body sweetly exhausted. 

The entire evening had been so peaceful, and they were surrounded by the kind of hush that only comes from heavy falling snow, and the gentle crackling and popping of the fire was the loudest sound he could hear, filling the large living room. Other than Obi-Wan’s keystrokes…

Anakin took another drink and looked out at the snow falling wistfully. It was easy enough to see out the large, two-story glass wall that faced the balcony to the west. He watched the inches begin to pile up on the hot tub cover. They’d soaked in the hot tub after skiing as the sun set, staying out there as the storm rolled in, until it started to snow and they’d been forced to come back inside and shower.

He was more that slightly tipsy, and the snow was oddly mesmerizing, the way the individual snowflakes were all tiny but were falling in such abundance to almost appear like an opaque fog in the light spilling from their windows. It fell at an inconstant sideways angle, blowing in the gusting wind. Obi-Wan had said there would be more powder than the groomers can keep up with in the morning, sounding very pleased. If Obi-Wan was happy, Anakin was happy too.

Obi-Wan sighed heavily and Anakin rested his head against his thigh, increasingly annoyed by the sound of keystrokes. Obi-Wan was really typing furiously, almost suspiciously fast. Anakin knew what it sounded like when Obi-Wan actually had an idea and was hurrying to get it down. This was much more agitated than that. He pushed his head back and peeked around to look at Obi-Wan’s screen and couldn’t help barking a laugh.

“Are you seriously arguing with Dr. Maul on Twitter?” Obi-Wan grimaced guiltily, and he looked almost cute in his soft pajamas and reading glasses, caught at behaving like such a hypocrite. “You are! Why?”

Obi-Wan couldn’t meet his eyes, endearingly evasive. “My article came out a few weeks ago, you know, the one on the recently discovered—”

“Fragments, yeah, and he’s what… responding to you about it right now on Twitter?” Obi-Wan pursed his lips, and Anakin grinned. “Why are you even bothering? It’s not like it matters what happens in the middle of the night on Twitter. On Christmas Eve.”

Obi-Wan threw up his hands in a you’d-think-so gesture. “Dr. Dooku agreed with him, Anakin! People think Dooku knows what he’s talking about.”

Anakin’s head rocked back in bewilderment. “Dooku? What the fuck is he doing on twitter? He’s a fossil.”

“Language,” Obi-Wan snapped instinctively, and Anakin rolled his eyes. He found that he was deeply annoyed that while he was basking in the moment, enjoying the fire and Obi-Wan’s company, Obi-Wan was distracted, bickering online about trivia with his professional rivals. 

“I used to respect all of you, you know. You’re supposed to be better than this, Professor.” 

Obi-Wan made a noncommittal noise and started typing again, as if he couldn’t help himself, and Anakin decided he’d had enough. He snatched Obi-Wan’s laptop off his lap and closed it with a decisive click, clutching it to his chest and scooting away. He slid it to the side and turned to look up with a teasing grin at Obi-Wan, who was sitting with his hands held fixed in their typing position and looking down at him with a slightly dumbfounded expression. 

The room was very hushed, and Anakin let his legs sprawl open wider, arching his back and blinking up innocently, biting his lip, as if to say and what are you going to do about it, Professor? He knew well that he had been a brat all day, trying to get under Obi-Wan’s skin, hoping to set him off. 

Obi-Wan clearly knew it too. He collected himself quickly, shooting Anakin a very unimpressed look. “You seem to think I need to be provoked into fucking you hard, paidika, but nothing could be further from the truth.”

“Really?” Anakin drawled as he pulled off his shirt and threw it aside, pleased to see Obi-Wan’s eyes slide slowly down the exposed skin of his chest. 

Obi-Wan smiled, and it was the slow, predatory one that made Anakin’s cock throb. He shivered at the intent in Obi-Wan’s voice. “You just have to ask.”

Anakin shimmied out of his pants, and suddenly was naked. He stretched out in a way that he hoped was attractive on the soft carpet, feeling just the right amount of tipsy, both from alcohol and all the heat, the fire behind him and the fire gleaming in Obi-Wan’s eyes. His cock ached as hot, molten arousal slid down his spine, and it was suddenly unbearable. “Then fuck me! Please,” he added quickly. “Fuck me, please!”

Obi-Wan stood up and raised a skeptical brow down at him, shaking his head slightly as Anakin’s hand moved toward his cock, discouraging him from touching himself. “This morning wasn’t enough for you? This afternoon? You’re impossibly needy.”

“Yes,” Anakin agreed emphatically, his cock getting so hard and leaking against his stomach. He ran his fingers through his precome and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean and watching Obi-Wan’s reaction. “Need you, Professor.”

He pouted as Obi-Wan walked away instead of coming closer, and slumped back to the rug, looking up at the exposed wood beams of the high ceiling, and the way the firelight flickered and danced across it. He inhaled the smoky scent of the fire and his cocoa, trying to fix this moment in his mind, waiting impatiently for Obi-Wan to come back and fuck him raw, fill him with come, or cover him with it, make him swallow it…

He sighed with relief as his stupid, handsome husband finally returned to his field of vision, standing over him and studying him with a fond expression, a familiar, half-empty bottle of lube in his hand. He tapped Anakin with the side of his foot, moving him to the side. He laid a towel on top of one of the throw pillows from the couch, putting both on the soft rug before the fire.

He gestured for Anakin to return to where he had been laying before, and rolled him over onto his stomach, resting his hips on the soft support and pressing his hard cock into the fabric. Anakin whimpered as he tugged his thighs further apart, tipping his hips forward and spreading his cheeks to stroke slick fingers against his sensitive hole. 

Anakin groaned and rocked back into the pressure, letting his hands slide out in front of him, grabbing at the soft rug. It was overwhelming and perfect as Obi-Wan quickly fingered him open, and it was so easy for him to accept him, he was so used to it, so good at it. He moaned as Obi-Wan stroked a hand up and down his spine, fucking him gently with two fingers. “Feels so good.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan breathed, his hand speeding up, growing a bit rougher. “So ready for me.”

“Please,” Anakin whined, trying to spread his legs even more, twisting to look back over his shoulder, seeking eye contact. Obi-Wan’s face was flushed, the color spreading down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his soft t-shirt. He was so handsome. “Please!”

Obi-Wan nodded and pulled his fingers out, smirking as Anakin’s involuntary whine at the loss. He reached behind him and pulled off his t-shirt in one motion, tossing it aside, baring his strong, hairy chest and making Anakin jerk his hips down, seeking pressure. Obi-Wan stepped out of his pants and slicked his cock quickly, settling between Anakin’s spread thighs. 

The trembling, eternal moment of anticipation before Anakin finally felt him lean forward to cover him with his chest, hovering over him to line up the head of his cock with his slick hole, teasing for a second before slipping the head inside, beginning to gently and insistently fuck him open. Anakin groaned loudly and Obi-Wan twisted his head back further to kiss him, sloppy and slow. 

Anakin broke the kiss to gasp, overwhelmed as always by just how big Obi-Wan’s cock was as it filled him up, buried all the way inside, balls deep inside, making him feel impossibly full.

Obi-Wan groaned and let his weight crush Anakin into the soft rug, beginning to fuck him with swift, sharp thrusts, forcing him to take it fast and hard, and each decisive slap of Obi-Wan’s hips against his ass forced out little pathetic whines, his mouth hanging open, eyes closed as he took Obi-Wan’s thick cock. So fucking thick…

“So good for me, take my cock so well,” Obi-Wan said, rough and low, his hips snapping forward harder. “Anakin.”

“Professor,” Anakin whimpered. “Don’t wanna come yet.”

Obi-Wan kissed the nape of his neck and slowed down, his thrusts becoming gentle, steady, relentless. “What do you want?”

“See you,” Anakin said plaintively, twisting his neck and then grumbling. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Obi-Wan said softly. “Want to see you too.”

Anakin groaned as Obi-Wan pulled his cock out, leaving him so painfully empty. He opened his mouth to complain when Obi-Wan cut him off with a look, his gaze intent, voice an encouraging rasp. “You’re going to ride me, make me come.”

“But I’m tired.”

“I wasn’t asking.” 

“Okay, yeah,” Anakin agreed quickly, getting out of the way so Obi-Wan could move the pillow and adjust the towel. He lay back and Anakin straddled his hips, looking down on him, almost in awe of the way the firelight made Obi-Wan’s hair flicker and burn, his skin looked so soft, his beard too, his eyes so dark as he studied him in return. “I really love you.”

Obi-Wan nodded, grabbing Anakin’s hip and lining up his cock with his slick hole, rubbing the head against his entrance. “Take what you need, darling.”

Anakin moaned and let his head fall back as the thick, blunt tip of Obi-Wan’s cock slipped inexorably inside. He rested a hand on Obi-Wan’s chest and rolled his hips back, over and over, taking Obi-Wan’s massive cock so easily, letting it slide against his prostate. He had so much practice, it felt so good… “So good.”

“You take me so well,” Obi-Wan agreed roughly. His hands slid to rest on Anakin’s thighs, squeezing and guiding him encouragingly as Anakin found the right angle and speed to drive himself insane, fucking himself quickly on Obi-Wan’s cock. Their eyes locked together, the entire world outside the reach of their firelight fading away, until Obi-Wan was all that was real to him. 

“Fuck me,” Anakin begged, his thighs trembling, breath shuddering. “I need you—”

“Come here,” Obi-Wan rumbled, pulling Anakin forward to a familiar angle and posture, holding him tight against his chest, and beginning to fuck up into his body, thrusting smoothly. Anakin took advantage of being close to crush their lips together, kissing him intently, sucking on his tongue.

Obi-Wan groaned and without pulling out, he abruptly rolled them over, and Anakin’s back landed on the soft rug again. Obi-Wan got comfortable between his legs, staring down into his face as he rolled his hips down and began to fuck him gently. 

Anakin whined and wrapped his arms and legs around him and held him so close, their chests pressed together, his cock trapped between them. Obi-Wan rested his forehead against Anakin’s, and it was like they were sharing air. Anakin felt like he was boiling alive, his balls tight. “I’m gonna—”

“Come,” Obi-Wan encouraged, burying his face against Anakin’s neck, biting down hard and then sucking just below his ear, in the place he knew well would—

“Fuck,” Anakin whined, his face tightening and toes curling as he came, and it felt like a release from the deepest part of who he was, complete and total, Obi-Wan’s cock fucking him through it just right. “Professor.”

“Anankē,” Obi-Wan groaned back, two last sloppy thrusts before burying himself inside, coming hard. 

Anakin hugged him tight and cuddled him close as they caught their breath. The fire crackling beside them, everything hushed and perfect, before Obi-Wan slid his cock out. Anakin wrinkled his nose as he felt Obi-Wan’s come slide out too, dripping down his thighs, and sighed in relief as Obi-Wan used the towel to clean him up, helping him back into his pajamas. 

He grinned as Obi-Wan held out his half-finished mug of hot cocoa, not realizing how thirsty he was, but happy that Obi-Wan knew what he needed before he did. He finished the sweet, tepid drink happily and set it aside. He yawned, the alcohol content starting to really catch up with him. He’d never been able to handle his liquor very well, but luckily he thought Obi-Wan found it charming. 

Obi-Wan did sound very soft and kind when he said, “Time for bed, I think.”

“Hmm,” Anakin agreed sleepily, lifting his arms. “Wanna carry me up?”

“I am not carrying you upstairs,” Obi-Wan grumbled, standing up and then holding a hand down and helping him up. “I’m tired too.” 

Anakin let himself be pulled up and then leaned against Obi-Wan anyway as they walked lazily to bed. He let him tug him upstairs, sighing dramatically when they reached the loft. “Let’s sleep in. It’s vacation.”

Obi-Wan kissed the side of his head as he leaned on his shoulder. “Tomorrow’s Christmas, or I suppose it’s probably technically Christmas now, it’s so late. Don’t you want your presents?”

“Sleeping in can be one of my presents,” Anakin suggested hopefully. “One of my favorite presents.”

Obi-Wan laughed quietly, carefully sitting him down on the large bed. Anakin immediately swayed back and scooted under the blankets, the room beginning to slide and spin, the dim light was soft and comfortable. Obi-Wan studied him for a moment and then gave in. “Fine, no alarm. We can sleep in tomorrow. Merry Christmas.”   

“Merry Christmas, Professor,” Anakin responded to Obi-Wan's light sarcasm with sincerity, opening his arms and inviting him closer, too tired and tipsy to bicker. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Obi-Wan said, and he smiled gently. He joined Anakin in bed, pulling the covers over them both. Anakin felt so warm and safe as he curled up on his chest, and he sighed with satisfaction as Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around his back and squeezed him tight, both drifting quickly off to sleep.